


Insatiable

by ffs_just_breathe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angsty Schmoop, Comeplay, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fuck Or Die, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hair Kink, Human Trafficking, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 09:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 135,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffs_just_breathe/pseuds/ffs_just_breathe
Summary: When Dean Winchester finds out his omega mother has a potentially lethal condition that won't let her climax with anyone outside the family, he insists on taking care of her personally—after all, he’s a hot-blooded young alpha with the sexual energy of a rising porn star, the DNA thing is a lock, and he already loves her in so many inappropriate ways.The Winchesters don’t know much about the Novak side of the family, or that Castiel Novak might also be willing to lend a hand, if it didn’t put them all in danger from the demons they’ve been fighting for centuries.Turns out the second-generation Winchester and Novak kids don’t give two shits about risk—they care about family. Sam Winchester and Claire Novak will stop at nothing to bring their broken families together—but when they do, the pieces come together in ways they could never predict.





	1. Gabriel's a pain in the ass. Dean comes home.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing.

There were times when Castiel Novak recognized the value of having a day job. In his branch of the Novak family, you didn’t need a paying job unless you wanted one, but he wondered if regular employment at a lawyer’s office or even a coffee shop would force him to let go of his obsessive investigations and step back to look at the whole picture. Give his brain a break while he poured macchiatos and cleaned coffee pots. His sister Hannah would doubtless call him all sorts of uncharitable names for thinking that day jobs were easy enough to allow his sad little brain a break in the first place, and Castiel would remind her that he'd had plenty of them over the years and knew exactly how challenging they could be, and that was exactly the point, to which Hannah would respond that he was a privileged, insufferable asshole, and that millions of people worked not because they wanted to but because they _had_ to.

He would give a lot to hear her call him names again. But Hannah had been missing for three months, and he was no closer to finding her than he was the day she’d been taken, except that now he knew exactly who had done it. The few threads of Azazel’s web that he could see were far-flung, and there was no telling yet how much more of the web was hidden, since the ever-fucking Third Prince of Hell had been constructing it for centuries.

No matter how long he stared at the maps, notes, diagrams, and photos provided by his operatives, he couldn’t find a pattern that would lead him to his sister any faster than just walking the planet one step at a time. His mother, the most powerful angelic presence on earth at the moment, had exhausted her resources (by which she meant interrogating, torturing, and then executing every demon and dark angel she could find) but it was clear that the demons were more frightened of Azazel than they were of her.

It was terrifying to think of his sister in the hands of the Novak family’s worst enemy, without access to her spellcrafting supplies. Or her heat suppressants. Like many Novaks—and Castiel himself—Hannah was an omega, and not unhappy to be one, except when her heat hit every three months or so, and she would cry and whine and beg for the simple physical relief of an alpha’s knot inside her, the bigger the better. She’d been known to tackle her older brother Michael, the only alpha in their generation, trying to force the issue, but even in the most extreme phases of her heat, when the smell of her luscious slick turned the heads of anyone within fifty feet, alpha or not, Michael’s cock stayed suspiciously limp. After that, Hannah, Castiel, and Gabriel had all agreed that Michael was an alpha in name only, because any alpha worth his spunk would have helped her out with a good hard fuck, sibling or not.

“I’d have done it,” Gabriel had said, “you know, if I could have been straight for five minutes,” which made all three of them cackle, “and, you know, the lack of knot would have been an issue.”

“Same,” Castiel said, topping off their glasses with the Malbec he had filched from the wine cellar. It was their third bottle, and he was fairly certain he would feel exactly like hell the next day. “Although I’d have no problem with the gender. All the same to me. Just the knot thing.”

“You two are both just disgusting, and I love you,” Hannah had said with a giggle, raising her glass to salute them.

A week later, she was taken.

According to the calendar, it was time for her heat to come around again, and she was in the hands of strangers, of demons, with no way of keeping the desperate, aching need under control.

He clicked through useless maps of demon sightings, rubbed his eyes, and whispered a heartfelt profanity, keeping his dread to himself so his sleeping daughter could go on sleeping. Kids with angelic blood didn’t require as much rest as purely human children did, but Claire did need a regular sleep schedule to fend off the episodes of relentless, exhausting mania that kept her up for days at a time. It was a curse she shared with her uncle Lucifer, and since Castiel hadn’t yet figured out how to fix either one of them, the least he could do was control Claire’s environment.

So when Gabriel, the golden boy of the highest branch of the Novak family, bounced into Castiel’s bedroom-slash-office at an ungodly hour like a cracked-out Tigger announcing the reversal of climate change, Castiel hissed and smacked him soundly on one ear, giving his brother just enough time to realize that Claire was in the room. He felt some regret about hitting Gabriel, but not much. They were brothers, after all, and while they were all in need of a little more kindness since Hannah had been kidnapped, everyone knew that the most sincere form of Castiel’s affection these days was a swift kick in the ass.

“It’s two in the morning, and I am working. What the hell is so important.” It wasn’t really a question.

“Castiel, we’re in the city that never sleeps. And you don’t either, so what difference does a clock make to us as long as Claire gets her beauty rest? Besides, I have horrible, damning news about big brother that simply cannot wait until morning. Also I can’t sleep either. And I brought bourbon. I think it’s bourbon. It’s definitely not vodka. Am I forgiven?”

“Do I have a choice?” But he accepted the glass of unnamed liquor, once Gabriel had poured for them both. “Since you’re not going to leave me alone until this news is vomited upon my duvet, go ahead and spit it out.”

“Yes!” Gabriel raised his hands in silent triumph, remembering at the last second that he was holding a rocks glass of not-vodka. “So you remember that scandal years and years ago—”

“Centuries or decades, Gabriel?”

“Decades. When Father Dear cheated on Mother Dear and—”

“Which time?”

“Castiel, will you stop_ interrupting_ me! It’s only going to take longer.”

Gabriel was right, as he often was, so Castiel shut up and let him talk.

“Thank you. So Father Dear has a torrid affair with one Margaret Campbell of the Wisconsin Campbells, I don’t know why he was in Wisconsin but—”

“I’m not asking.”

“—but Castiel, they were hunters. Honest-to-golly, pure human hunters, and awfully vicious ones, too. But that doesn’t matter. Father Dear left a little gift for sweet Margaret in the form of a baby hunter named John.”

Castiel closed his laptop, his interest piqued. It wasn’t the first time his father had played Zeus, and Novak bastards generally didn’t cause many ripples in the global scheme of things, but there had to be a reason why Gabriel was so giddy about this one.

“John Campbell eloped with another hunter, an omega. Mary Winchester. Ever heard of her?” Gabriel was tapping madly on his phone while he spoke, and Castiel knew he was about to find out who she was whether he wanted to or not. But actually…

“I… why am I thinking she’s a musician?”

“She’s not just any musician, Castiel. Listen.”

There was a beat of silence, then a video picked up in the middle of a classical concerto featuring a solo violinist playing as though the ability had been hard-wired into her DNA. Her technique was natural and sure, the tone of her violin rich, relaxed, and seductive, even through the speaker of Gabriel’s phone. Castiel had lived to see the development of dozens of classical instruments, and while he himself played just enough piano to make a fool of himself, he knew a virtuoso when he saw one. And Mary Winchester was a virtuoso.

She was also an omega, according to the caption below the video. A beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed omega in the prime of her life, with talent pouring out of her, working in a field that had discriminated against omegas—and women, for that matter—since its inception.

“How did she…”

“She worked her ass off, is how. Probably had to fight for every job she got until someone stood up for her and made people listen. Doesn’t hurt that she’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Yes, I imagine that worked in her favor occasionally,” Castiel said. “So back to your romantic saga. I assume you’re going to tell me how she went from hunting to playing at Lincoln Center?”

“You couldn’t have given me the Carnegie Hall opening?”

“Never.”

Gabriel pouted, but continued anyway. “I don’t know exactly how she did it. No one else seems to know, either, but her musical career didn’t start until John Campbell died. Before you ask, there doesn’t seem to be any demonic involvement, no deal-making. Everything I’ve read indicates that she did a lot of teaching, some—”

“John Campbell’s dead?”

“And he’s finally catching up. Yes, our half-brother died several years ago, leaving Mary to raise two frankly gorgeous boys without a mate. Here, check out the fam,” Gabriel said, and shoved his phone back in Castiel’s face to show off a picture of Mary Winchester and her sons, as though he’d had a personal hand in raising them. “She’s got a pretty nice Instagram, actually.” The pic had been taken by a fourth party and showed Mary with the boys on either side of her, all three grinning like someone had just gotten tickled. It was hard to tell much of what the boys looked like since they were smiling so widely, but they were both vacation-tan and, as Gabriel had said, gifted with their mother’s pleasing bone structure. They looked happy.

“She seems to be managing. Why do I need to know this?”

“Because she has something called called conjugal genetic anorgasmia. Poor thing can’t have an orgasm without the, uh… involvement… of someone who shares a significant portion of John Campbell’s DNA.”

“Like Father.”

Gabriel gagged a little. “God, why would you even—” He shuddered. “No, you idiot. Like us.”

Without his consent, Castiel’s cock twitched in his trousers, and he was profoundly grateful his laptop was still solidly on his lap. He would never have heard the end of it otherwise.

“Talk faster, Gabriel. Why is this my problem?”

“Because,” Gabriel held his breath before he let the news fly, “Michael tried to help.”

“He did not!”

“He did! And failed completely.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Shut up. You guys are too loud,” grumbled Claire from her nest of blankets and pillows, then went back to her light snores.

“Come on,” Castiel said, and set his laptop on the bed beside Claire, escaping downstairs with Gabriel and the bottle. “Is it just us?”

“Eileen’s here somewhere, but she’ll be asleep. Have a seat,” Gabriel said, clearly pleased with himself at getting a reaction out of his brother.

Castiel did, sinking into the cushion, hoping he wouldn’t get too drunk to make standing back up a challenge. Even so, he took another hefty gulp out of the glass, knowing where the rest of this was eventually going. He nodded to Gabriel to continue.

“So Winchester’s medical team did some digging and found out that even if Campbell’s father—”

“Our father.”

“Yeah, him. Even if he was dead, Campbell actually had brothers—”

“Us.”

“Fuck, will you stop interrupting, yes, us, even if we are half-brothers, and that might be close enough. They contacted Michael, as the eldest, and—”

“Huge invasion of privacy,” Castiel said.

“Huge. Or small, in Michael’s case. Apparently he wasn’t quite enough alpha for our Mary.” He sniggered like a twelve-year-old boy making his first dirty joke, and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from grinning. For his entire life, Michael had been a prick to him and everyone around him, their parents excepted, and finally they were beginning to understand why.

“They’re going down the list, looking for volunteers. I’ve already told them no, since I’m not an alpha, and I couldn’t get it up for her anyway if my life depended on it, no matter how gorgeous she is. The shrinks wouldn’t let Lucy out of restraints for long enough to do the deed, but you. Well. You’re not an alpha, but I’ll bet my sweet lollipop ass cheeks that you’d have her swimming in slick in no time at all, brother. And you’d be breaking a hell of a dry spell for you both.”

Castiel's heart raced for exactly ten beats, imagining what it would be like to lick the metallic taste of violin strings off of Mary Winchester’s fingers, to plunge his hands into that glorious mane of blonde hair, to hold her head down on his—

And then he thought of Hannah. "Absolutely not."

“But you could—”

“I could, but I won’t. And I won’t let this family get any more tangled up in this than we already are. Michael’s attempt at helping Mary was admirable but extremely misguided. If I see you encouraging—”

“Why the hell not?”

“Do you think Azazel will stop with Novaks? When he can hurt other families the way he’s hurt us?”

“Are you going to spend the rest of your life in a bubble, Castiel? And Claire, too? You can’t push everyone away to keep them safe, and really, the best way to keep people safe is to keep them close!”

“We kept Hannah close. And he took her the second we let her go.”

“We did not let her go!” Gabriel said. “She went because she wanted to, needed to, for fuck’s sake, was she supposed to stay shut up in this penthouse or locked in her workshop for the rest of her life?”

“It would have been better than—”

“God, I fucking hate you sometimes,” Gabriel said, downing the last of his drink and banging the glass on the table so hard that Castiel thought it might actually shatter. “This was supposed to be an entertaining goddamned conversation. I’m not telling you anything, ever again.” He turned and stormed off to his bedroom, but Castiel caught him before he could close the door.

“Don’t get anyone else involved, Gabriel. For their own safety.”

Gabriel scoffed, but didn’t argue, slamming the door to clearly state his opinion.

Castiel jogged up the stairs to his room where Claire was still asleep on his bed. Quietly, he searched for Mary Winchester to get an approximate location—it was frighteningly easy to find out she had a house on the east coast of Florida—then started an email to one of his assets in the south.

_From: CNvk@lastisfirst.org_

_To: BLF1869@lastisfirst.org_

_There’s a family in St. Augustine that needs watching over. They may already be at risk; move quickly and stay in the shadows._

The response came within minutes.

_From: BLF1869@lastisfirst.org_

_To: CNvk@lastisfirst.org_

_Pointed south. Got a name?_

_From: CNvk@lastisfirst.org_

_To: BLF1869@lastisfirst.org_

_Winchester._

_From: BLF1869@lastisfirst.org_

_To: CNvk@lastisfirst.org_

_On it, chief._

* * *

By Dean’s standards, two days early wasn’t much of a change in plans, but to be on the safe side, he probably should have told his mother he was coming in Sunday instead of Tuesday. She hadn’t mentioned she would be out of town, and her car was in the driveway, but the house was empty—or it smelled empty, anyway. The swoosh of air that met him at the door, unconditioned thanks to the cool front crossing Florida just in time for spring break, seemed a lot like his dad’s garage six months after he died. Like nothing at all.

He dropped his duffel and headed down the hall to his mother’s bedroom. It was possible she was out with a friend—a boyfriend? he wondered, not looking too closely at the flash of jealousy that sparked at the thought—or out for a run, but he knew that she hated running in her neighborhood and would drive to a guarded park or a track before risking the crappy drivers, unleashed dogs, and random knothead alphas.

“Mom! You here?”

“Yep!”

Her bedroom was at the far end of the house, by the patio and pool, and Dean expected that he’d get at least a hint of her light omega smell the closer he got to the room. But there was nothing, just a disturbing sense of absence that made his heart beat a little faster, and not in a good way.

“There you are,” he said, relieved. She looked up from a pile of clothes on the bed and smiled, so wide it seemed like it ought to hurt her face, then launched herself at him in a neck-throttling hug. He returned it, swinging her around one or two times, like she used to do for him when she picked him up from summer camp and hadn’t seen him in weeks.

He set her down but didn’t let go immediately, taking the opportunity to scent the waves of her long, dark blond hair, hoping for a breath of the honeysuckle and early strawberries that had always made his mouth water. Nothing.

Mary pushed him gently away after a moment and surveyed him suspiciously. "Did you grow again? I mean—” She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed gently. “You’re not playing football, are you?”

Dean grinned. “No, Mom. Football’s in the fall and I already promised you I wouldn’t play. It’s just an elective class for weight training.”

“Well, it’s working. You’ve put on, what, ten pounds since term started?”

“Something like that.” It was more like fifteen—he was almost twenty years old and more than ready to look like the alpha he was instead of the twink he’d been for most of his life. Joining the swim team again would have been great, and he’d have happily tried out for the wrestling team since FSU had a pretty good one, but weight training could be worked around his class schedule and his part-time job at the auto shop. The choice had been obvious.

“Hang on, you’re early,” his mother said. “And you didn’t call. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “All good. They’re doing construction on the lab so it was loud as hell and I couldn’t get any work done. And there’s too much partying in the dorms since spring break started. I sowed those oats last year. Also I maybe missed you.” He looked down to make his own evaluation of her and wasn’t happy with what he saw. Her eyes weren’t quite as bright as he remembered from his last visit home and there was a dullness to her skin that he’d only seen during the months after his father’s death. He nodded to the clothes on the bed and pulled out a dress that caught his eye. It was a beachy turquoise slip dress that she’d worn on their family vacation to Cancun the year before his father died. He remembered it because it was too short for anywhere other than the beach, although John encouraged her—strongly—to wear it when they got back from vacation, too. Dean had privately agreed; his mother had legs that didn’t quit. “Cleaning out the closet?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s past time. There’s a little consignment shop downtown that apparently has good turnover, so I might be able to bring in a little cash. You know, for Christmas.”

He grinned. “Glad you’re still thinking of us.” They didn’t need the money, not with his mother’s career going as well as it was, and college tuition was already covered for him and his brother Sam, but he knew his mother would never forget their leaner years, when she worked multiple jobs just to make the house payments. So he appreciated the thought all the same.

“Although if you think Lisa might want to take a look through them next time she visits, I can hang on to them for a while.”

“Lisa and I aren’t dating anymore. We’re still pretty good friends, but I doubt she’ll be coming home for Christmas.”

“That’s a shame,” she said, although she didn't sound surprised. “I liked her. Come on, let’s get you some lunch. I’m sure you haven’t eaten in five minutes or so. You must be starving.” She abandoned her project and led him back down the hall toward the kitchen, but he beat her there and began plundering the refrigerator for sandwich makings.

It didn’t take long to dig out some roast beef, sourdough bread, horseradish, and some sliced cheese that didn’t have a label, but it wasn’t green and fuzzy, either. Dean wasn’t picky.

“Hungry?”

“No, thanks,” his mother said. “You go right ahead. So will you be going out tonight? Gail says her pack’s home for the summer. They might be up for some company. Amber will be glad to see you, I’m sure.”

Dean ignored the hint. They both suspected that Amber had a desperate crush on Dean, but Dean wasn’t interested, and never would be. He’d accepted it. “Why, are you busy?” he asked.

“No, I just have a thing tomorrow morning so I won’t be up for a late night.”

“What thing?”

“Not your business, darling.” She kissed his temple and breezed by him on her way back to the bedroom. He expected to scent her, but there was still nothing, and the alpha in him was beginning to get seriously pissed about it.

“Yeah, it kind of is,” he said. “And as long as I’m already being nosy, why are you wearing blockers?”

She paused, like a rabbit about to run for its warren. And then kept going, like he hadn’t said anything at all.

Normally Dean didn’t give two shits if an omega or any other person turned their back on him and walked off—the instinct to chase, to catch, to hold down didn’t kick in unless he was under stress, or unless someone else was already upset and throwing off indicator pheromones. Add in those factors, and his alpha suddenly got very interested in who was running, and how he needed to deal with it—soothe, protect, or, in rare circumstances, fuck into oblivion on the nearest flat surface. Dean had never rolled for that last one; he was a human being first and even in rut, he wasn’t going to let the animal in him run the show.

Still, his brother Sam would be drooling with excitement at the opportunity to observe the lone alpha in the wild, fighting the instinctive possessive urge that sometimes cropped up even during non-mating situations. Sam and his research. He had presented beta at fourteen, and had always claimed to be grateful for it, so he could objectively indulge his fascination with alpha and omega motivations, behaviors, and, of course, chemicals. Pheromones, hormones, didn’t matter, they were all magical potions as far as he was concerned, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “Bottle that stuff up,” he’d said, even before he left for his super-special school for smart kids, “and you could win the Nobel Prize. Biochem calls me, and I must go.”

Screw the Nobel Prize. Dean just wanted to know what the hell was up with his mom. If she was pretending it didn’t matter, it was serious.

“So we have two issues here, at least,” he said, ditching his sandwich and following her back toward her room. “Three, maybe. You’re wearing omega scent blockers, but it’s not just you—the whole house smells like it’s empty. Even your bedroom.”

“Dean, please just stop.” She ducked back into her room and continued pulling clothes out of her closet for sorting.

“Not happening. You’re doing something early tomorrow morning and you won’t tell me what it is. So I’m wondering if it’s about why you look like shit.”

“As always, I appreciate your honesty,” she said, her voice tight. “And you may kiss my ass at your earliest convenience.”

“No, seriously, you live in Florida and you’re pale. Not like sunscreen pale, like anemic pale. You’re not getting enough sunlight or iron something.”

She barked a quick, bitter laugh. “Or something. It’s not important. And after tomorrow I’ll be all better.”

“So it is important. A medical procedure?”

“It’s None. Of. Your. Business.” It was almost a growl. She had never spoken to him like that in his life. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and it wasn’t an alpha thing this time. It was a son, scared for his mother.

“Not good enough,” he finally said. “If it were me, you’d tell me to talk to someone. Actually, you’d say that if I don’t tell my family I’d be acting irresponsibly. Come on, Mom, you’re all we’ve got. You can’t keep us in the dark like this.”

After several excruciating moments, she cleared her throat. A tiny deflection she used when she didn't want to say something.

“It’s just an omega thing. Kinda like an appendectomy—getting rid of a bit that doesn’t work anymore. Something about an omega prime hormone deficiency. But I’ll feel better, and they say it increases omega life expectancy by, I don’t know, five, seven years? It’s the stress of the condition that causes the problem—high cortisol levels, no way to naturally balance them with endorphins. Et cetera.”

“What’s it called?”

“Sorry?”

Another deflection.

“What’s the name of the condition?”

“I don’t honestly know the medical terminology. GCA. ADG. Something.” The hell she didn’t. “They’ll fix it tomorrow in five minutes. Okay, maybe fifteen.”

“Damn it.” He wrapped his arms around her and she didn’t resist. “I don’t like it when you lie to me.” He dug his hands into her hair and felt her relax against him, tilting her head just slightly in subtle submission. He scented her neck, shamelessly. Pups always did this with their parents, it was no big deal. It was no one’s fault that his cock got involved—he’d been the dominant male in their household for five years, and his alpha had gotten used to thinking of her as his omega. The urge to fuck her never went entirely away, so in a situation like this, that inconvenient alpha craving presented, front and center.

“Not lying,” she whispered.

“Not telling me everything, though.”

She jerked away. “You are not my alpha,” she snapped. “You’re my son, and I’m not obligated to tell you a single thing about my health. This is not life-threatening, and it’ll be over in a heartbeat. So let’s just drop it, go to dinner, watch a movie, and go to bed. By the time you wake up tomorrow it’ll be done.” But her voice broke a little when she said it. “Eat your lunch. I’m going to put in some practice time then we can go to dinner. Brandy’s?”

A mention of Brandy’s would usually distract him (perfect ribeyes were always a safe bet), but still, as soon as he heard her violin playing from the other side of the house, Dean went outside and called Sam.


	2. Confessions

Sunday nights were slow at Brandy’s, so not enough people got to appreciate his mother in the bronze satin dress she was wearing, or the curve of her neck, exposed as it was by her informal updo, or the line of her calves in the short heels she wore. He’d seen her in stilettos once, but not since she started solo tours and her agency’s insurance company insisted she wear heels no higher than two inches. She’d shrugged and given her high heels away, since they said she was apparently worth a couple million dollars in recording and touring contracts, but Dean would have given a lot to see her in those stilettos again.

They were early, since Mary couldn’t eat after midnight on the day of the procedure, and they joked about getting the senior special at the cafeteria two blocks down the street. He poured her short glasses of white wine during dinner while she spent most of her time avoiding eye contact and asking Dean questions about life at school. And she didn't share anything about how she was doing if she could avoid it.

Dean's phone vibrated in his pocket towards the end of dinner, and he glanced at it before standing up and excusing himself. It was Sam, returning his call, and hopefully providing some information on their mother's mysterious Condition.

“Sorry,” he said. “I gotta take this call—I'm mentoring a freshman and he's been freaking out a little. Be right back.”

“Don't worry about it,” she said. “I'll pay up and meet you out front.”

He nodded and was out the door before she could signal for the check.

“What'd you find out, Sammy?” Anyone else would find it crazy that his little brother would be better at medical research than Google, but anyone else hadn't met his little brother.

“Yeah, nice to talk to you again, too.”

“I got about three minutes, man. Spill.”

“Okay, so this medical condition is bull. There is no ADG or GCA that has anything to do with omega hormones, so if your buddy's wife is having issues, he's giving you a big stinking load of crap.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured. Is that all?”

“Well, he might be keeping his mouth shut because there is a condition called CGA—conjugal genetic anorgasmia—”

“Anorgasmia. That means what exactly?”

“Dude, seriously?”

“Just tell me, Sam. Talk to me like I’m five.”

“It means she probably can’t have an orgasm, is all. It's not a huge deal for older people, because the glands that control climax are already dormant, but for people with—”

The door behind him opened. His mother came out and sat on a bench near a flowering hibiscus to wait for him to finish.

“Zeke, look, the research has to be done within a certain time period to be valid,” Dean said. “Like, by midnight. So stop dicking around and just do it or you’ll blow the entire project, and your grade along with it.”

“What the hell?” Sam said. “Midnight? Oh. You gotta go?”

“Yep. Visiting family. No, it's fine, but let's talk as soon as you get the work done, all right? No matter how late.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I hear you. I might have some more information later.”

“Cool. Take it easy, man.”

“You too. See ya soon.”

“Right on.” He disconnected the call and turned to his mother. “Needy freshman.”

“But it's nice to help, right?” she said.

“Absolutely. Nothing better.”

He held his arm out to her and she slid her hand through it, letting it curl around his elbow. They meandered down the boardwalk, which took all of ten minutes, then Dean escorted her back to the car, his sleek black '67 Impala, and opened the door for her.

“You really have taken fantastic care of this car,” she said. “Your Dad—”

“Would be so proud, yeah, I know. It's been said.” He grinned at her to show that he wasn't irritated, and started the engine. He didn't miss her tiny shiver when Baby growled under the hood. “Miss it?”

“All the time.” She stared out the window for a moment, and Dean wondered what she was remembering.

It didn't take long for him to drive back to the house, even though it was pretty far off even the secondary roads. They both had their windows down, and Dean loved the smell, the humid salt air of the coast sinking down among the palms and scrub grass that lined the road home. The tide was higher than usual, creeping into the drainage ditches and reflecting the full moon in the small ponds along the pavement. All that was missing was his mother's scent.

It had been a long day for them both, and Dean was both ready for bed and dreading it, having gotten no further in his investigation of his mother's procedure the next day. She seemed to have dropped into a sort of numb trance, very like her behavior after his father had died, when grief had come near to destroying her. Those nights he and Sam had taken it in shifts, staying with her every second, waiting for her heart to simply stop beating. It had been known to happen.

“G'night,” he said, once they had changed into pajamas. “I love you.”

“Love you,” she whispered. “See you tomorrow. I'll be home by noon at the latest.”

He leaned into her, pressing his forehead against hers. “I'll make lunch. BLTs?”

“Perfect.”

They didn't move from the hallway for a long time. Finally they broke apart by silent agreement and headed to their rooms, Dean's closer to the kitchen, Mary's master bedroom at the far end of the house. Dean closed his door and put his ear to it, making sure he heard hers open and close. Not that it mattered. She wouldn't be fine in her bedroom or out of it, no matter how much she lied about it.

He changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, plugged in his laptop, and tried to pretend he was Sam.

There wasn't much online about CGA. WebMD directed him to anorgasmic disorder, as did the Mayo Clinic website and Wikipedia. As if there was some kind of taboo about the genetic part of the name, which was obviously the important part. Was it something about her DNA? A glitch in her genetic code? Surely not. He'd heard her having sex with his father and she clearly had no problem reaching climax then—several times in one session, usually.

He shifted on the bed and rearranged his cock, which was suddenly trying to get his attention by knocking his computer off his lap.

So probably not a physical problem. What else had she said? High cortisol levels, no way to naturally balance them with endorphins, she'd said. Obviously no way to get the natural high from an orgasm, so--

A crash sounded throughout the entire house. It could have been an intruder, but he knew it came from his mother's room, and given the sound of glass breaking, it was probably her dressing table mirror that had shattered.

“Goddamn it!”

He'd only heard his mother scream like that once, when she'd been trying to cram too many of John's old things into a foot locker with a broken clasp. Her fury hadn't been about the foot locker. It had been about losing John.

He was down the hall and banging on her door in an instant.

“Mom! Are you okay?”

“Go away!”

“You know I'm not doing that. Let me in.”

“No. Go away.”

Oh, hell no. Dean was big for a nineteen-year-old, especially since he’d started weight training, and it only took a couple of determined shoves to break the lock on the door.

The mirror was shattered, as he expected. But he didn't have time to worry about upcoming bad luck, because his mother was huddled in the middle of the bed, nothing but a sheet and her long hair to cover her, sobbing helplessly.

He got on the bed without invitation and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair and rocking her gently. Like she used to do for him when he was so small he could barely remember it.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, but she shook her head, refusing again to meet his eyes. “God, Mom, what's wrong? What the hell happened? And don't you dare tell me nothing's wrong. We are way the fuck past that now.”

It triggered another wave of weeping, and he looked around the room for tissues but was arrested in his search by an object on the floor in front of the broken mirror.

It was a dildo. Long and thick, with a bulge on the end to simulate an alpha's knot and a switch on the bottom suggesting that it doubled as a vibrator.

She'd been trying to come. And failing. So she'd thrown the vibrator across the room and it hit the mirror.

“Oh, shit, I am so sorry,” he whispered into her hair. He found the tissues after another minute of surveying the bedroom and wiped her face, but the tears kept coming.

There was nothing to do but hold her.

“I need some water,” she said, after a long while.

“Okay. But don't bother trying to lock the door again, I've already busted it.”

“You're fixing that.”

“I know,” he said, kissing her forehead on his way to the kitchen. He filled a huge tumbler with ice and water, found a straw, and delivered it to his mother, who gave him a nod of gratitude.

She drank for what seemed like forever, then said, “Damn it. I'm not supposed to drink anything after midnight.”

“It's only eleven. You're good.” He said nothing else, but picked up her empty hand and stroked the back of it gently with his thumb. After a few minutes, she seemed to realize that he wasn't going anywhere. And that she was going to have to talk.

“Okay,” she said. “It's not just an omega thing. It's a sex thing.”

“CGA.”

“How do you—never mind, it doesn't matter now. But yes, that’s what it’s called. I can't have a climax like a normal human being.” Her voice was bitter and cold, and he squeezed her hand to encourage her to continue. “In omegas, it means that the little gland controlling the omega prime hormone basically shrivels up and dies.” The tears started again, but she managed to talk through them. “The dead tissue causes problems. Endometriosis, cysts, malignant tumors, they don’t know why.”

“Shit,” Dean said softly.

“So they take it out. Like the prostate in men. Except it... well, men can still be men, even alphas, without the prostate. But once they take the omega gland, I'll be...” She couldn't finish, and Dean couldn't let himself finish the thought for her. She may not have even said it out loud to anyone yet.

“I'll be null.”

And she burst into tears again.

He didn't blame her in the least. Null wasn't a presentation like the neutral but vibrant beta—null meant that a person had no scent, no secondary characteristics, and little if any of the life force that drove alphas, betas, and omegas. Null people were barely there. Sexual urges, passion, creative instincts, they would all be so tamped down as to be nonexistent. There was no telling what it might do to her playing, her career. He couldn't believe that she'd been about to make herself into that without telling him and Sam. There had to be another way.

He said as much, and she slapped him, hard, the blow coming from pure, poisonous, misdirected rage. He didn’t take it personally.

“No,” he said, and grabbed her hands. “You're not pushing me away, and you're not keeping me out of this. Now tell me what you've tried. Tell me everything.”

She froze, and he realized why after a moment. The sheet had slipped, and there was nothing left to hide her. She was naked in the bed with him, and deeply embarrassed by it.

“Sorry,” he said, letting her hands drop. He pulled the sheet up to her chest and she held it at her neck to cover up. “Talk.”

Finally, she did. She talked about the treatments they had tried, the medication, the physical therapy (and God, wasn't that humiliating), the specialists, the experiments, all of them failures.

“You went through this alone,” Dean said.

“Yes,” she said. “There was nothing you could have done, and there's nothing you can do now.”

“I don't believe that for a second. Tell me about the genetic piece of this. What you’re not saying.”

“No.”

“Goddamn it.”

“I can't. You would just hero through it, trying to fix things in the worst possible way, and--”

“You don't know that.”

“I know you.”

“How long has it been? How long has this been going on?”

She reached for the tumbler of water, deflecting again. “Five years.”

He swore again and rubbed a hand across his face. “You haven't had an orgasm in five years.”

“No.”

It hit him then, and he realized what the genetic piece was. It had been staring him in the face all along.

“Since Dad died. You haven't come since Dad died.”

“No.”

“But you've had lovers. That douchebag conductor in Portland—”

“No climaxes.”

“Holy crap. How are you still sane?”

“I'm not sure I am. Sometimes I think the only thing keeping me going is you and Sam and the Stradivarius. And chocolate.”

“Okay, so it's not that you haven't had the opportunity or the practice. It's that you need Dad's actual genetic materials to get you there. Is that what this is about?”

She shrugged, and said nothing.

“God, you are a pain in the ass. Look, I'm your son and I love you. So answer this straight-up. Would it have to be Dad? Couldn't it just be another member of his family with enough shared DNA to kinda... I don't know, fake your body into having an orgasm or fifty?”

She laughed. “Fifty orgasms… honestly, even one sounds pretty good right now. But yes, we tried that, too. Your dad had four half-brothers that I didn’t even know about until a few years ago. The oldest was a close genetic match, and he was willing to try, but it… well, it just didn't work. The others aren’t viable options, I think is how my doctor put it. One is gay, one is institutionalized, and the other is in Europe, maybe, God only knows where. Hiding, probably.”

“But you haven’t tried everything yet.”

She shook her head. “I have.”

“You haven't tried me.”

“That’s revolting. You can’t—”

“I can, actually,” he said softly. “I already have.”

The memory thundered back to him, trampling everything in its path. She didn’t remember, probably wouldn’t want to remember, but there was no other way she would let him help. She had to know.

_He hears his mother weeping from the other side of the house. He and Sam both know what’s happening, but neither of them can remember her heat being this bad. Usually their father will spend a few hours in bed with her and they’ll hear the headboard slamming against the wall every now and again, their mother crying out in a very good way, and that would be the end of it. Mary would emerge from the bedroom walking a little stiffly, but flushed and happy. She’d open all the windows to clear the air, inhale a plate of spaghetti from the crock pot sauce that she’d made before her heat started, and head back to her practice room to make up for the day or two she’d lost while her husband fucked her to next Friday. John would grin and shrug, like it was nothing at all, and Dean would blush, trying not to think about what his mother looked like spread out on the bed, naked and wet and begging for a knot, and failing miserably, as usual. Sam would shudder and retreat to their bedroom, back when the boys shared one. That was how it was supposed to go._

_Not this time. This time the heat clobbers her, hitting so fast there’s no time to throw together a big meal to last the boys for a few days. She goes from fussing about the A/C being too cold to dripping sweat in two hours flat, and in another hour she’s balled up on her bed, feverish and panting like a dog through heat cramps. The whole house smells like strawberries and honeysuckle, with the tantalizing element of a newly-lit fireplace thrown in to make Dean absolutely insane. They send Sam to his best friend’s house for a few days, but Dean flat out refuses to go._

_“You might need help,” he tells his dad. “Laundry, food, you know, stuff.”_

_“A free heat concierge,” John says with the half-grin that Dean inherited. “Well, people pay hundreds for that kind of service, Dean. I’ll take it. Just… this one’s a tough one, and I don’t want you overly worried about your Mom. I’ll deal with her.” By which he means, I’ll fuck her into the mattress every few hours and fill her full of come until she pulls through._

_“I know you will,” Dean says._

_He does as he promised, putting simple meals together, washing the soiled sheets that his father dumps on the floor outside the bedroom, delivering clean ones. And yeah, he runs the wet spots over his face more than once, letting his mother’s slick seep into his pores, sometimes suckling the really soaked areas. More than once, he comes in his pants with the smell of his mother’s sex driving him towards the kind of orgasm that a fourteen-year-old boy has no hope of controlling. Hell, he’d just presented as an alpha three months ago and he can barely go five minutes without popping a boner anyway. He washes as many pairs of pants as sets of sheets. And that’s without even touching his dick._

_It’s like Christmas._

_Until it isn’t._

_He has his own room by then, and since he’s caught up with his chores and homework and it’s way past his bedtime, he lays in his bed with the door open, fan on, and nothing to do but listen to his parents fucking, waiting especially for the musical sounds of his mother’s climaxes. He’s been hard for going on three hours, and it’s starting to really hurt, so he throws off the covers and takes himself in hand, wishing he’d kept one of the stained sheets to rub on his cock._

_Just the thought is enough to bring him to the edge, but his father’s voice does a fine job of pulling him back from it. Dean hadn’t even heard him come in._

_“Dean,” he says, his voice ragged and heavy. “I need your help, son.”_

_“Okay,” Dean says, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn’t trust himself to stand up just yet, even though it’s almost full dark in his room and his dad can’t possibly see the half-chub that’s still tormenting him._

_“Come with me.”_

_Dean follows his father to the master bedroom, where his mother’s heat scent is so powerful it makes him a little dizzy, and brings his hard-on raging back to life. His father stops him before they go in, and it’s clear he’s having a difficult time speaking._

_“She needs more than I can give her this time,” John admits, so quietly Dean can barely hear him. “The alpha service won’t send anyone until daylight, so you’re the closest alpha there is. And she needs help. We both do.”_

_“Dad, I can’t do that. I can’t touch her like—”_

_“You sure about that, boy?” his father says, and Dean is shocked to feel John’s hand on his rigid cock, pressing lightly through his boxers. “Seems to me you can.”_

_“But she won’t—”_

_“The state she’s in, she’ll hardly know it’s you. Your scent is still close enough to mine that she won’t question it, and I’ll blindfold her. It’ll be fine. It’s this or listen to her cry all night, and I can’t do that. Can you?”_

_“’Course not. But what… I mean, how am I supposed to… I’ve never done this before. And she’s my mom. I don’t want to hurt her.”_

_John laughs, short and cold. “That’s not going to happen. Just don’t speak, and when it comes time, split her open on that that fat knot of yours and pump her full of all the come you can manage. That ought to hold her for a while, until we can get a backup alpha. And don’t bite her.” Dean’s been playing football since he was old enough to throw one, and still, it’s the weirdest fucking pre-game speech he’s ever heard._

_“Okay,” Dean says, knowing that he’s not supposed to want this, that only really messed-up boys want to fuck their moms, no matter how beautiful and perfect they might be. Might be okay if she was his stepmother, but as it is… Not like it matters. There isn’t a choice, and he’d do it anyway. Probably not a good idea to let on that he’s happy to help. “Okay. I’ll figure it out.”_

_He does. His dad is right about all of it—his cock has no problem staying hard for the gorgeous, heat-stricken omega and it doesn’t seem to give a shit how closely related they are. His mother doesn’t recognize him, or if she does, she says nothing, just guides him inside her, wraps her long legs around him, and holds on, while he fucks her into a screaming orgasm, comes so hard that his eyes feel like they’re bugging out of his skull, and pops a knot that feels approximately the size of a softball. He doesn’t bite her, but only because the scar of his father’s mating bite is so prominent on her neck, even in the dark. He feels it under his lips, so even when his mother arches her back and bares her neck for him, he reins in the urge to override his father’s claim on her. Because that would fuck things up beyond repair._

_After, as they wait for his knot to go down, she is completely lax in his arms, as close to passing out as he’s ever seen her, and he wonders if he’s done it well enough to give her some rest for a few hours, at least. Alpha come is supposed to be the magic potion that soothed omega heat, after all, evolution’s way of making sure omegas stayed with their alphas and kept the semen—_

_Fuck. Oh, fuck. Is his mother on birth control? And shouldn’t he have asked that before he got into bed with her? It doesn’t bode well for his future as a responsible sexual partner that he hasn’t even considered the possibility of getting his mother pregnant._

_Maybe it doesn’t matter. He never wants to leave her anyway._

Mary turned away from him before he finished and held onto her tumbler of water like it was a life preserver. He couldn’t see her face, so he took the risk and moved the fall of her hair to one side, leaving her back and shoulders bare. She puffed a short, shocked sigh but didn’t move away from him, which was a good sign.

He desperately wanted to kiss her neck, but it would only jack up her defenses, so he settled on smoothing the back of his fingers over her shoulder blades.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” she said. “You have to know that if I’d had any say in the matter I wouldn’t have allowed you to be used like that. Ever. I wish he’d drugged me. I wish he’d knocked me out with a crowbar. I wish—”

“I don’t,” Dean said. “I’ve loved you forever. You know that.” He didn’t stop touching her while he spoke, gently stroking his fingertips up and down her spine. “I loved you as my mother and as the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I got hard the first time because I could finally smell you; I think I was nine, maybe ten. And when I presented alpha, I couldn’t stop thinking about how good you would feel in my arms. In my bed. Around my cock. I haven’t ever stopped thinking about it.”

“You were only fourteen,” she said. But her voice was trembling, her body beginning to shake under his touch. “You weren’t old enough to make the choice.”

“I’d already made my choice. Mom, let me help. Please. If it doesn’t work, we won’t ever say another word about it. We’ll pretend it never happened.”

“Dean.” She whispered his name like she would never see him again.

And then he caught it, the light, sweet scent of honeysuckle and early strawberries. It was the unmistakable aroma of Mother, to him, and he pressed his forehead against the back of her neck, fighting tears of relief. For a few horrible hours, he had thought he might never smell it again.

“I love you,” he said, and wrapped her in his arms, not so tightly that she couldn’t get away, but tight enough that she would recognize him as her alpha. “Please.”

She gave a soft, hitching cry. “You... you have to promise me...”

“Anything.”

“You can't bite me. We can't mate. Ever.”

“I promise.”

She exhaled, long and slow, and nodded her head. It was consent enough for him.

He shifted her on the bed to face him and stroked her hair. “If you want me to stop, just tell me,” he said.

She buried her face in his neck, unable to look at him. Silent. He wasn’t about to let her get away with it this time. He pulled her head back by a handful of her hair and drew her up to him, gently. Mouth half-open, cheeks flushed, sapphire eyes glassy with longing.

“God, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Dean said, and kissed her. Finally. She whined softly, as though she was trying to hide her response from him, but he heard it and he knew what it meant. “It’s okay. It’s okay for you to want this. No one’s going to blame you.” He put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her again, trying to hold himself back, knowing that he wasn’t going to last long. Not with her warm and naked against him, not with the smell of—

Holy fuck. Slick. That was his mother’s slick, hot and immediate, and he had to get it in his mouth more than he needed air to breathe. Thank God she was already naked.

He didn’t want to freak her out any more than she already was, but just at the moment there wasn’t anything as important as getting his face between her legs. He couldn’t be bothered with her modesty—she’d said he could have her (sort of), and have her he would. Now.

He pulled the sheet off and her scent rose up to embrace him. She didn’t resist when he flipped her around to brace her heels on the side of the mattress. He knelt on the floor in front of her and yanked her hips down to his mouth, taking half a second to appreciate the shiny, dark gold curls surrounding the deep rose of her slit. The other half-second was lost in a low groan of perfect contentment as he opened her up with his thumbs and plunged his tongue inside her.

She wailed at the intrusion, and her hips bucked up and away from him, an automatic reaction like shying away from a tickle. He pulled away, panting hard.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!”

Oh, thank God.

He opened her up again and kissed her clit, rubbed his mouth against it, inhaling her soft, tangy fragrance and spreading the glorious mess of her slick on his face. It seemed almost effervescent, like sparkling water, and he couldn’t wait to feel it on his dick.

More. He wanted more. Needed more.

He slid a finger into her, waiting on two, thinking that it might have been a while since she’d been properly opened up. She cried out, but it sounded distant, like she was in another room, or maybe it was just Dean, existing on a different plane of existence, like Heaven. He felt her muscles clench around his finger and then a stream of hot liquid dripping down his wrist. He lapped at it but couldn’t catch it all, just swallowed as much as he could and then slurped it straight from the source, curling his fingers around her thighs to keep her still. Someone was shaking hard, but he couldn’t tell who. He shifted his mouth to get his tongue on her clit and felt her jerk against him again, uselessly trying to get away from the overstimulation.

He hummed against her in sheer happiness, wishing that he could use his hands for something other than keeping her still. The idea of tying her down made his cock jump against his pajama pants, sliding against a layer of wetness that felt just like that night when he’d fucked her through her heat, so he’d come already without realizing it, just from the taste of her in his mouth. Probably for the best, and honestly it didn’t matter as long as he could get it up again to fuck her properly. Didn’t seem to be a problem. It was worth finding out, and now seemed to be the best time according to his cock.

He released his grip on her thighs and ran his fingers over the dark spots where he thought he might have already left bruises. He kissed them all, sucking deeper bruises over each one, claiming her in the only way he knew how, since she already wore his father’s mating bite. He scooted her hips back onto the bed and crawled up her body, kissing and suckling as he went, nuzzling against her breasts and drawing her nipples into his mouth. He kissed her again and moved his hips against hers, offended that there was fabric between them, even if it was thin and flimsy. Still too much.

Apparently she was irritated by the barrier, too, because she untied the drawstring of his pajama pants and yanked them down over his ass, making it his job to shimmy them down his legs. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it somewhere, then found himself stark naked, holding himself taut above his equally naked mother. He had to ask, one more time.

“Mom. Can I?”

After a moment, she opened her legs wide for him and gave him a small, secret smile.

“Yes, baby. You can.”

“Fuck,” he whispered. She was dripping slick now, but he thought she would need a minute or two to open up for him so he didn’t hurt her. Omegas were usually made to take bigger cocks, but his dick was larger than the average alpha’s (so he’d been told) and more than one partner had told him to slow down his initial entry. And right now, his only job was to delay his orgasm until she’d come at least once. Even if it was his second orgasm, holding it back might be the hardest thing he’d ever had to do—premature ejaculation hadn’t been a problem for him in the past, but this was different. This was like fucking a goddess, one he’d worshiped and dreamed of his entire life. “Hold on to me.”

She nodded, and didn’t look away when he entered her, an inch at a time. She rolled her hips up to meet him and he hissed in protest.

“Be still,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you, and if you start fucking me back I’ll come too fast. Because you feel so damned good.”

She nodded and obeyed, but couldn’t stop herself from moaning when he entered her another two inches. He couldn’t stop himself, either. She was so hot inside, impossibly tight around him, tighter than the women he’d fucked trying not to think about her. And so goddamn wet. He’d been right about the slick, too—his dick felt sort of like he’d dunked it in fizzy water, which didn’t help with the whole delaying ejaculation thing.

She was sopping wet, making it entirely too easy to bottom out inside her. He felt the head of his cock press into her as deep as it could go, while her eyes opened wide as saucers, nearly black now from arousal and need.

“Dean. Oh. Oh, Dean. How… how can…” He circled his hips against her and she threw her head back, digging her nails into his shoulders. He didn’t move his hips to fuck her—he couldn’t, not without coming. But he put his thumb on the button of her clit and pressed, gently, to see what happened.

Which, upon further reflection, was probably a mistake. She sobbed and bowed up, slamming her hips against him, squeezing his cock so tightly he thought it might just stay inside her if he ever tried to pull out.

“Damn it!” he yelled. His cock damn near exploded with come, and there was a lot of it, almost as much as there would be with a knot.

“Oh, God, I can feel it, I can feel you coming—”

Well, he might as well make the most of it. As long as he didn’t knot her, he might be able to keep fucking long enough to make her climax.

He pulled out and wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, gritting his teeth against the pain of a blocked knot and essentially ruining his own orgasm. It was so worth it, because the sight of his own come dripping out of his mother’s pussy was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

He sat up and pulled her onto his lap, spreading his knees slightly to give her some stability. She was going to need it, limp and yielding as she was. He set her down slowly onto his cock, impaling her completely, and she gave a broken cry that she tried to silence.

“No,” he said into her hair. “I wanna hear you. Wanna hear it when I fuck you.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah.” He slid his hands under her hips and lifted her several inches, struggling to keep a grip on her slick-wet thighs. He felt sure this would work, since he’d already come twice and could handle fucking her for a good while longer. Probably.

“Dean,” she whispered into his ear. “I want your knot.”

Aw, fuck. You don’t say no to that.

“Hang on.”

He slammed his cock into her from below, feeling her clench around him, the wet slap of his hips against her ass maddening. He thought he could probably fuck her harder from behind, or on top as he’d just tried to do, but before he had the chance to flip her over again he felt her thighs quivering and the muscles inside her fluttering around his cock. She was so close.

With one arm he held her against his chest, leaving his other arm free. He snaked a finger down where they were joined and felt for her clitoris, which was by this time twice the size it had been only minutes before.

“Fuck, yeah,” he said. “It’s right there, Mom. You don’t even have to chase it. It’s gonna come to you.”

He wiggled his thumb on her clit, pounded his cock inside her, and felt her convulse around him, drowning him in hot slick. She howled, and he wrapped his other arm around her, holding her close, her nipples hard as pebbles against his chest. Triggered by her orgasm, his knot enlarged so fast he thought he might actually pass out, and her pussy gripped it like a hand, milking him, pulling come out of him over and over until all they could do was hold on to each other and ride out their climaxes together.

He was still feeling her aftershocks when it became crystal clear that it was going to take a while for her body to let his knot go down.

“Hey. Let’s get comfortable, okay?”

She didn’t respond, and he realized that even though he could still feel her quivering around his cock, she had passed out completely. He pulled her down to lay on top of him and then rolled them both to their sides. It wasn’t a great solution, but it was the price of a knot, and he’d be more than happy to pay it again.

In about an hour, maybe.


	3. Sam figures it out

When Mary’s phone alarm went off at five, Dean reached over to her side of the bed to silence it, but she woke up and grabbed it first.

“Shit,” she mumbled. Then, “Fucking hell.”

Wow. Dean hadn’t ever suspected his mother to have such a natural gift with profanity, but until last night, he hadn’t known she could come for ten minutes at a time. Maybe she hadn’t known, either.

“Go back to sleep,” he said, laying his arm over her shoulders.

“I can’t, I have to be at the hospital in two hours and I need to shower before…” Her voice trailed off as she remembered. “Oh God.”

Dean shuffled closer and pressed the length of his body against hers, feeling his cock begin to swell. He nudged his nose into the crook of her neck and took a huge, intoxicating breath. Sleepy, sated, omega-slick mother, with a tiny essence of his alpha come in there to spice things up. There was no better smell in the universe, as far as he was concerned.

“Don’t bother with the shower,” he said, turning her on her back to face him. It was a little before dawn, and in the soft, rosy light filtering through the blinds, her eyes were dark and wide, her expression a little stunned. “Because you’re not going to the goddamned hospital. You’re staying in bed with me all day long.” He moved his hand down her chest, brushing his fingertips over her nipples. She inhaled sharply and he grinned. “And because I want you to smell like sex and me and more sex for the rest of your life.” He slid the sheet down to her hips, baring the neat triangle of dark gold curls and dipping his middle finger in her slit, making her gasp. “And because I want to spend the next hour with my face buried in your wet, come-filled pussy, and then you can take a shower, if you really want to.”

“I have to—”

“Nope. Don’t wanna hear it.” He slithered down his mother’s body, kissing and licking all the way, until he came to her thighs and spread them open wide. Her scent hit him like a sledgehammer and he dove into her nose-first, groaning with lust, shifting his angle so he could lick her from taint to clit with the flat of his tongue. This earned him a shriek of pleasure, so he did it again for a good long while, wondering if she might be able to come on his tongue. He lost track of time, light-headed from the taste and smell of her, reveling in her impossible softness on his tongue and lips. He felt her fingers in his hair, trembling, and realized that she wasn’t too far away from another climax.

He glanced up to see her chest heaving, nipples dark pink and hard, hands twisting in the sheets. She’d apparently given up on speech completely and was reduced to flat-out whimpering. Back up her body he went, to capture her mouth in a deep, sloppy kiss, the best kiss he’d ever had—although he was sure that every kiss with her would be the best ever.

“I know I said an hour,” he said, kissing her neck and sucking gently on her earlobe, “but I really want to fuck you now. Just for a little while, and then I’ll make you come with my tongue. Are you okay with that?”

“Mmmhmm!” Which sounded pretty consensual to him.

She was easily as wet now as she had been last night, and when he slid inside her, she was every bit as tight and hot. She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles together to pull him deeper.

“Harder,” she whispered.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m as deep as I can go without hurting you.”

“Then hurt me.”

Shit.

He sat back on his knees, grabbed her hips, and jerked her closer to him. He wasn’t about to hurt her, but he pulled her up at the same time he slammed deep, getting a slightly different angle that might be enough to give her what she wanted. What she needed.

She threw her head back and inhaled like she’d been drowning, twisted the sheets in her fingers, and moaned like she was being paid for it. He remembered this, from her heat, the low, rough cries of an omega seconds away from orgasm, and realized that he wouldn’t have to go down on her again to make her come – she was about to do it on his cock. The idea of it made him harder, and he found himself in the same damn situation he’d been in the night before – wanting desperately to make her come, and unable to stop himself from coming first.

He pulled out and she wailed in protest until he dropped back down to her pussy and slid two fingers inside, laying into her with his tongue on her clit until she started making noises like she was about to jump off a cliff. Which sounded promising.

He pounded her with his fingers, wishing it could be his cock, and it didn’t take long for her to crush him so tight he could barely get inside her. One more hard thrust and he was trapped. She’d lifted her hips off the bed and was rolling them up towards his fingers, going after the orgasm like it was the rabbit at a racetrack. Just to see what would happen, he shook his hand to make the fingers inside her shudder like a vibrator, and it threw her right over the edge.

She came with a desperate cry and a gush of slick that ran in streams down his wrist and arms. He tried to catch it all in his mouth but couldn’t keep up with the flow. Thirty seconds, and he did it again, making her quiver inside, bringing her one more time to climax. Another break, another pulse of his hand, and she was quaking against him, pleading with him to stop.

He didn’t. Not for a long time.

It took some doing, but Mary finally convinced Dean to let her get out of bed and take a shower. While she was occupied, he cleaned up in the bathroom he shared with Sam, threw the sheets in the washer, then made coffee for them both. Things had changed from the night before, and she could eat and drink whatever she damn well pleased now.

She emerged from the shower fully dressed except for shoes, in a sleeveless sea green silk blouse and a pretty green skirt with embroidered white flowers that hit just above the knee. She looked beautiful, as always. And he wanted to take it all off and see what she was wearing underneath.

She had her phone in her hand and was already speaking with someone.

“No, it’s just that I won’t be coming in for the procedure today. Hopefully not ever.”

Dean could barely hear the tinny voice of the person on the other end of the line. A physician’s assistant from the hospital, he assumed.

“Mrs. Winchester, Dr. Tran is right here and would like to speak to you. Can I put her on?”

“Of course,” Mary said.

“Put her on speaker,” Dean said.

“Why?”

“Because I need to know what she says. You can't keep me in the dark anymore.”

She sighed and tapped the speaker button.

“Mary,” said Dr. Tran, her voice severe and kind at the same time. “Are you rescheduling the procedure or canceling it entirely?”

“Um. I think I'm canceling.”

“May I ask why? I hate to intrude, but it's important you understand the risks.”

“I do understand, Dr. Tran, I really do, but the fundamental issue putting me at risk is... well, I think it's resolved.”

“Damn right it is,” Dean said, dropping a kiss onto the side of his mother’s neck.

There was a low murmur of voices from Dr. Tran's side of the conversation, and Dean thought she was probably on speaker at the hospital, too.

“Can you be more specific? This is important.”

“Well.” Mary coughed. “I think... well, I found an alpha.”

The murmur turned into a chorus of joyful whoops and catcalls that Dr. Tran wasn't entirely able to quiet down.

“Mary, I am very happy for you. Apparently every member of the staff here is pleased for you, too. And a little overexcited,” Dr. Tran said, exactly like Mary Poppins would if the kids were getting out of hand.

Dean was also getting a little overexcited, and couldn't keep his hands from the buttons on his mother's blouse. He'd managed to slide his hands into the cups of her bra before she wiggled away from him with a painfully wide grin on her face. He went at her from the other direction and had her skirt up, her underwear pulled to one side, and two fingers inside her when she gasped and said, “You can't do that when I'm on the phone!”

Someone from the hospital wolf-whistled, and another said, “Yes, he can!”

“Hey, that's sexist—it might not be a man, you know!” came another staffer's unsought opinion.

“Quiet, all of you! I know damn well you have patients to tend to, so go tend them!” Dr. Tran could be terrible in her wrath, apparently, because the background noise faded in seconds. “All right. This process is not over, unfortunately.”

Mary went quiet, waiting for bad news, and Dean stood up and wrapped an arm around her waist, discreetly licking her slick off his fingers.

“It'll be fine,” he whispered, kissing her temple.

Dr. Tran continued. “What I need you to do is replicate your climax at least three times over the next three days--”

“On it,” Dean said, and Mary shushed him. They heard a snicker from someone in the hospital who was still eavesdropping.

“Three times over three days,” Dr. Tran repeated. “And then, provided it wasn't a fluke, you'll need to come in for bloodwork and possibly an ultrasound to make sure the gland isn't inflamed. Are you with me, Mary?”

“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes at the soft kisses Dean was laying on her collarbone.

“There's something else you should know. An omega with a track record like yours runs the risk of going into heat after knotting with an alpha multiple times, or even just bonding strongly with one.”

“Awesome,” Dean murmured. Having his mother during her heat had been damn near transcendental, and he would rearrange his entire life to do it again. Quit his job. Drop out of school. Anything.

“So if you can use an alpha service, or choose alternate partners, it might help avoid a heat, if that could become an inconvenience for you or the alpha you’ve partnered with. And remember contraceptives.”

Dean’s eyes started to sting, casting the crimson wash of greedy, possessive alpha over his sight. Mary glanced at him and ran her hand down his cheek to tamp down whatever fire was kindling in Dean’s mood.

“I think we'll risk the heat,” she said. “It'll be fine.”

“All right. Congratulations, Mary, and do enjoy the next few days, if you can.”

“I will, and thank you, doctor.”

She tapped out of the conversation and hugged Dean, hard. He felt her chest rise and her nose brushing against his neck. She was scenting him. It turned his alpha to pudding, and he wrapped his arms around her, his hands delving into her hair at the nape of her neck, making her moan softly. Once she could speak, she said, “I'm not going with a stupid service, alpha. No need to get cranky.”

“You're my omega,” Dean muttered. “No one else's.”

“Of course I am.”

They finished getting dressed—or re-dressed, in Mary's case—and took the Impala out to get breakfast.

Life couldn’t possibly go back to normal, but they did the best they could. After breakfast, Mary spent her usual hours in the music room and Dean hit the books, working not only on his own subjects but the subjects of the freshmen in the study group he was running over the break. He’d committed to it as an independent project for a favorite professor, but he was hoping now that he would be able to handle some of the sessions over the university’s video chat app. The idea of spending the rest of the term away from his mother was as close to hell as he could imagine. His alpha got seriously pissed just thinking about it.

And he couldn’t help looking even further down the road. He had two more years of undergraduate work left at FSU and then a decision to make—where to go first, if anywhere at all. He’d never thought of himself as grad school material, but he knew his mother expected him to do something more important with his life than tune up old cars, otherwise what the hell was he going to school for? People kept asking him that, and he still didn’t have an answer. Until last night, he was the only one who had a say in the matter, since his mother never told him what to do one way or another. No one else needed him.

But she needed him now, no matter how she would try to deny it. Provided they could handle another three orgasms in three days (and technically they’d already managed several before the sun came up), she would be stable in terms of CGA symptoms. Which begged the question of how many she needed to keep her healthy. Dean knew he could handle it, as long as he was close enough to come see her every few weeks or so. But that wouldn’t be enough, not for him. And he knew it. He wondered if she did.

Three hours later, he was on the treadmill in their small workout room when his mother poked her head in.

“I have to go out,” she said. “And I have to go on my own. I’ll pick up dinner on the way, okay?”

Dean hit pause on the treadmill and hopped off, drawn to the scent of honeysuckle and tart berries, which was stronger now than he ever remembered it, except during her heat. “You want the obvious question?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you have to go on your own?”

“Because I’m going to a sex shop and I can’t bring my son with me.”

He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it. Then opened it again. “You think anyone would recognize you?”

“They might recognize us both,” Mary said. “It’s not a big town, and I’m sort of a local celebrity, ridiculous as it may seem.”

“You should be a celebrity,” he said, taking the two steps to get closer to her. “You’re brilliant.” He leaned down to scent her shamelessly. “Damn. You smell so…”

She dropped her head back the slightest bit to bare her neck and he realized she was offering herself, submitting to him, in a way that omegas only did for their alphas.

“God,” he said, and rubbed his face on her neck. When she went out, there would be no question that she belonged to an alpha. She swayed against him.

“You… you, um…” She tried to get her words back, but was having a hard time managing it. “You’re not supposed to smell that good to me. It’s a biological deterrent, I think. I read it… somewhere.”

“Deterrent failed. I love you,” he said. “Come back soon.”

“Okay,” she said, and kissed him softly on the lips before she left.

As he restarted the treadmill, he realized that he’d forgotten to ask her why the hell she needed to go to a sex shop.

Dean pestered her with questions while she put away the groceries.

“Come on, Mom, there’s only one ‘adult novelty’ store in the whole county. What toy could be so important that you have to drive an hour to buy it? You know they sell that shit on Amazon now.” He sneaked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, rocking her back and forth.

“Yes, but I don’t want to wait for two days. Sam’s coming tomorrow.”

He stopped rocking. He’d never been apprehensive about a visit from Sam until now.

“So we have to get our quota in today and tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” she said, wiggling out of his grasp and turning to face him. “And I want this to be better for you. You just seem to be struggling.”

He laughed outright. “I’ve never struggled less to do anything in my life. Making you come is like… I don’t know, like opening presents on my birthday.”

“Okay, I’m not making myself clear. It’s… well, let me just get dinner on, and—”

“Mom,” he whispered into her ear, “don’t make me wait.”

She shivered. “My room. Five minutes.”

He knew what he was supposed to do. He’d already put new sheets on the bed, so he cleaned up and stripped down for her, laying himself out naked on her bed, counting the seconds. She was quick, and met him on the bed holding a simple black rubber ring. She slipped something else under the pillow, but he couldn’t bring himself to care what it was. He could already smell her slick.

“Can I put this on you?”

“You can put anything on me you want, Mom.”

She slipped the ring around his cock and balls and he drew in a sharp breath, even as he started to swell under her hands.

“Good boy,” she murmured. His omega said he was a good boy. The praise turned him hot and cold at once.

She unbuttoned her dress, revealing a light blue lace bra and a matching pair of panties that made him crazy, but it got worse when she turned around to take off the bra, giving him a perfect view of her back. Once the bra disappeared, she bent over and wiggled out of the panties like she’d been coached by a porn star. Even from several feet away, he could tell that her underwear had a damp patch in the vee between her thighs. She was already wet, and he was already hard as nails.

She crawled up the bed to kiss him and threw a leg over, mounting his hips without letting him penetrate her. He could feel her wet lips surrounding his shaft as she slid slowly back and forth, her clit grazing the cock of his head every now and again. She laced her fingers through his and pressed his hands above his head. “If I could tie you up, I would, but I don’t know knots and I don’t have rope anyway. So if I ask, would you just lay still for me?”

He nodded, unable to speak since she called him “good boy.”

“Thank you, darling. You’ve been so sweet to me.”

She sat back up and shifted so that she could reach his cock, which was drenched with her slick, jacking him with perfect pressure and speed, keeping her eyes on his the whole time. Her hands were smooth and firm, better than any jerk-off he’d ever managed for himself, and when she added a little twist to the upstroke around the head, he almost came off the bed completely.

“Tell me if you’re going to come, baby,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” he said, adult words gone.

She kept at her task, steady and sure, with no apparent need to hurry things along. He got the impression she would do it forever if that’s what it took, and when he opened his mouth to say something, she slipped her fingers in his mouth and fed him a heady combination of her slick and his pre-come that just about launched him into space.

“C-Close,” he said, barely able to speak. She stopped, making him whine, and shifted down again so that she could easily reach his cock with her mouth. She managed to engulf about half of him in one smooth stroke, and he made a helpless sort of grunt that would have embarrassed the hell out of him in any other situation. She hummed against his cockhead, sucking him slowly and firmly.

He felt her tongue, swirling around the head, and her hands again, jacking the part she couldn’t fit in her mouth. She kept it up, relentless, spit and slick combining into some wicked aphrodisiac that aroused him more than ever and at the same time made it impossible to come.

The ring. The cock ring. It was fairly comfortable so he’d almost forgotten she had put it on, but that had to be what was doing it. If so, there was really only one more part of this experiment.

“Mom,” he said, voice hoarse and barely human. “Fuck me. Get on top and fuck me. Please.”

She popped off his cock with a soft smile on her face, her lips red and a little swollen from the blowjob. “So polite. Someone taught you good manners.”

He heard the rough sound of something being torn, like an envelope, and felt his mother’s hands smooth a condom over his cock.

“Mom, why—”

“Just to see what happens,” she said. “We’ll take it off in a minute.” She mounted him again, this time sliding his cock inside her with the same smooth confidence that she’d had sucking him off.

She leaned down to kiss him, angling her hips to get him as deep as possible. When her lips touched his, she began to undulate in a rhythm that he knew would make him blow in maybe two minutes. Three, with the condom.

“Fuck, Mom, you gotta—”

“Shh.” She sat back up on her knees and slipped two fingers between his cock and the ring. For a moment, the pressure around his dick grew damn near painful, but his mother’s skillful hands popped the ring off in less than a second. Like she’d had practice. The relief was amazing.

While he’d been enjoying the sensation, Mary had moved a hand between her legs and gotten busy. A low buzz sounded and he realized what else had been on her shopping list. All of a sudden she didn’t sound nearly as calm as she did before this particular party got started.

“Tell me when you’re going to come, baby. If you can wait until after I’m done, that’s fine. Or not. It doesn’t… oh, God.” She lifted up onto her knees and rolled the condom off him in one sure motion, then seated herself on top of him again, dropping hard and grinding the deepest parts of herself against the head of his cock.

Dean howled. “Ah, fuck!”

And there it was. The squeeze, the thrilling shiver of the vibrator, the slick, the pulsing muscles around his cock, her orgasm taking her away and him along with it. His cock erupted with semen, and even though he wasn’t entirely inside her, his knot popped without his permission and they both shuddered as he filled her completely.

Filled her, and filled her again. He might have spurted inside her five times, maybe fifty; Dean lost track of his own ejaculations, lost track of everything.

Some time later, his knot went down enough that they could separate, and she rolled off him with a moan of both deep satisfaction and mild disgust. “We’re a mess.”

“Yeah. So I guess it worked,” Dean said.

“The cock ring or the condom or the vibrator?”

“All of the above, apparently.”

“I just thought we could use some help with the timing—you know, speed me up, slow you down, we hit the finish line at about the same time. Worth the trip out there, I think. I’m just glad they had the alpha-sized rings. You’re a big boy.”

He grinned, and kissed her hand. “We’re gonna need more sheets.”

She sighed heavily. “And we’re going to have to decide what to tell Sam.”

“Why do we have to say anything? He’s a beta; we won’t smell any different to him.”

“Because he’s a genius, and he’ll figure it out anyway.”

Dean couldn’t argue with her. There was no way his brother would take this well.

* * *

They collected Sam the next day at the school bus rendezvous, where the kids from Science & Tech were dropped off and picked up for breaks. The Impala had plenty of room for Sam’s luggage but no air conditioning, and after three minutes Sam was bitching about it.

“Dude, you put this car back together practically molecule by molecule, you work at an auto shop, and you can’t figure out how to install A/C? You’re stupid.”

“_You’re_ stupid,” Dean said, unable to come up with a better retort. He had a lot of talents, but smack talk wasn’t one of them. “It’s only seventy freaking degrees, dumbass. Ain’t my fault Mom and Dad were too cheap to spring for A/C in ‘67. And it ain’t my fault you have too much hair for your own good. Give me five minutes with some clippers, you’ll feel a whole lot better.”

“All right, both of you settle down,” Mary said. “Dean, can you please take us by the Magnolia Shopping Center? There’s a new deli I think you boys will love. Also I want to show you off.”

Ten minutes later they were locking the Impala and escaping the late afternoon heat in Lafitte’s, a combination grocery, deli, coffee shop, and bakery. The door had a little-old-lady Tinkerbell-type chime that rang when they opened it, and an odd little rectangular block high up on the door frame, decorated with letters from an alphabet Dean didn’t recognize. A mezuzah, maybe? One of his roommates from his freshman year had been Jewish and had put them on every doorway in their dorm room. Nobody complained; they could use all the blessings they could get.

“I’m pretty sure Benny’s some kind of supernatural creature, or he made a deal with the Devil to keep his shelves full, but it really is a little unnerving,” Mary said. “He always seems to have everything I need, whether it’s in season or not.” Dean shot her a suspicious glance, but his mother didn’t notice, which was probably for the best. “Go find the crust for the pizza tonight,” she said to Sam. “And I think the produce section has fresh herbs. I hope he has basil in there, because my plants are already starting to dry out and burn.” She gave Sam the list and basket, then led Dean to the deli case.

“Damn,” he said, impressed by the selection. “You’re looking at the corned beef, right? ‘Cause I sure am.”

“She’s looking at everything delicious.”

A soft basso voice announced a tall bear of a man emerging from the back room of the shop to wrap his arms around Mary in a warm, generous hug. He had a mop of curly brown hair with a few strands of gray and pretty blue eyes that missed absolutely nothing. If he hadn’t had his hands all over his mother, Dean probably would have wanted to go bowling with the guy.

As it was…

“You keeping those magic hands safe for me, cher?” The bear had taken a half-step away from Mary but was holding both her hands in his and… was the guy kissing her hands? Repeatedly?

Fuck that.

“Dean, this is Benjamin Lafitte, he owns the deli, and—”

Growling, Dean broke the two apart and found himself face to face with Benny Lafitte, who was a scant inch taller than him, close enough that he could see the first layer of alpha pink on the other man’s eyes.

“Hands off my mother, if you don’t mind,” Dean said, his voice an octave or two lower than usual.

“Dean, don’t,” Mary said. “Benny’s a dear friend, and—”

“Never a good idea to bow up to strange alphas, pup,” Lafitte said, exuding the burned coffee smell of irritated alpha. “Especially in their own territory. Your mama’s perfectly safe here and I guess she’d be mighty upset with me if I—”

“Benny,” Mary said, and slid smoothly between the two alphas, her own eyes omega gold. They froze in tableau for several long moments, until another scent crept in and begged for notice.

Omega slick. Mary’s slick. Two alphas fighting over one omega, and it was apparently turning his mother on.

Dean wasn’t unaffected either. His cock was taking an interest in the proceedings, as it did in any competitive situation with another alpha, and he found himself in close contact with his mother’s ass, which he knew was covered with lacy white underwear. He’d watched her put them on himself.

“Hey, Mom, they have like three kinds of basil in pots on the sidewalk or cut basil in—what the hell?”

Sam’s bewilderment was enough to cut the tension in the shop, and Mary was the first to move. She pushed Dean back, staying in front to hide his erection, and took a deep breath.

“Sorry, Benny. Dean’s been a little overprotective lately. We think it’s a hormone imbalance. Or something.”

“Right,” said Lafitte with an understanding grin. “How old are you, son? Nineteen, twenty?”

Dean didn’t like to be called anyone’s son, not even by his mother, but he took the olive branch and tried to think of Lafitte as just Benny. “Nineteen.”

“That ain’t an imbalance, Mary, that’s just me and your boy being idiots. Happens all the time. Good to meet you, Dean.”

Tension broken, but Dean suspected he might be in trouble later. They managed to find everything else they needed, including Sam’s favorite flavor of gelato and a pound of organic bacon that Benny said needed to be tested by experts. By the time they left, Dean was more relieved than relaxed—Benny suspected something was off, but he wasn’t sure what. And Dean was happy to let it stay that way.

“Yes,” Mary said, once they were on their way back home.

“Yes?” Dean asked.

“Yes. Benny and I dated for a while.”

“For a while. You mean, like, last week?”

“No. About six months ago. It didn’t work.”

“Obviously.”

She shot him a nasty glare that prompted his immediate apology. He threw his arm on the top of the front seat and laid his hand on the nape of her neck, forgetting for a moment that Sam was in the car with them. Mary froze, and he realized what he’d done a second too late.

He carefully removed his hand, hoping that Sam hadn’t noticed.

Dean had been assigned the job of salad making while Mary and Sam went for a dip in the pool. There was a string bag of vegetables on the kitchen counter which held very little interest for him, but Sam and his mother insisted on some sort of greenery to go along with the pizza, and Dean drew the short stick on the prep work.

He emptied the bag of vegetables into the sink to wash them, and saw that his mother’s phone had been hiding under the bag, too close to the sink for safety. And that it was unlocked.

Dean knew himself to be a snoop and a thief, under the right circumstances, and clearly his mother had been keeping secrets from him and Sam, so it made a twisted kind of sense for him to pick up the phone and look at her recent calls. One to St. James Medical, one to Sam—probably to confirm the pickup time—and one to him. He tapped over to the text messages and ran across a much more interesting string from that morning, an exchange between his mother and Ellen Harvelle, her agent in New York City and the closest thing she had to a best friend.

The last one read, “I’ll need regular bloodwork done, but there’s no need for the removal. He pretty much saved my life.” At that point it was impossible for him to put down the phone. He scrolled up to what looked like the beginning of the thread.

_Mary The boys are here, so I’m out of circulation for a while. And I’m not coming to New York in the summer_

_Ellen But we have to renegotiate your contracts now that you can play again_

_Mary I’ll renegotiate in the fall. Just at the moment I have_

_Mary Things that need taking care of_

_Ellen Such as?_

_Mary The boys are in town, and Sam’s here for spring break and then the whole summer, and_

_Ellen And what? Your new alpha?_

_Mary Yes_

_Mary It’s a relationship I need to maintain. Absolutely_

_Ellen What’s he like?_

_Mary You know I’m not giving out details_

_Ellen But you want to_

_Mary Okay, he’s amazing_

_Ellen And?_

_Mary And beautiful. Tom Ford underwear model beautiful. And kind, passionate, smart, treats me like_

_Ellen Like what?_

_Mary Like a goddess. If I could mate him I would, in a heartbeat_

_Ellen I’m gonna puke if you don’t stop_

_Mary It’s your own fault, you asked_

_Ellen So is it confirmed with Dr. Tran?_

_Mary I’ll need regular bloodwork done, but there’s no need for the removal. He pretty much saved my life._

Dean wasn’t sure what to feel. His mother had told her agent everything, but hadn’t said a word to him or to Sam about the potential for her to become null, for her life to become unlivable. He knew why—she didn’t want him to fix things for her by committing acts that were utterly taboo in virtually all societies. He got that, but still, the omission stung. Then again, she admitted that he’d pretty much saved her life. And that she would mate him, if she could. He thought about how her blood would taste in his mouth if he bit her and realized his cock had gone hard as concrete.

He shifted in his shorts, trying to disguise the erection, and set the phone down on the kitchen counter. She came in from the patio on her way to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around her waist to keep from dripping on the floor. It wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“Need help with the salad?” she said, and he shook his head, silent, eyes averted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m good. Just about done.” Which was an obvious lie, given the state of the vegetables and the unused cutting board. “Gonna take a quick shower after.”

She raised her eyebrows at the lie and then saw her phone sitting where she hadn’t left it. “Ah,” she said. “My last text with Ellen. You saw it.”

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. No more secrets."

“You told her, though. You told her without telling us.”

“I had to,” she said, wrapping her arms around him in a solid hug. “I would have had to take some time off after the procedure. No telling how long. I might not even have been able to perform at all. She had to know."

He returned the embrace and rested his chin on her head. “We should have known, too.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t your problem—not until you made it yours, anyway.”

“You threw sex toys around your bedroom and broke a mirror, Mom. Kinda drew attention to it.”

She wriggled out of his arms and turned to the tomatoes. “You came home early. It was supposed to be done by the time you got here.”

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, pulling her back to him and tucking her into his chest. “It’s fine.”

She sniffled and whispered, “I’m so sorry. I hate him for this and I hate myself for—"

“Do we need to go through this again? We can – I’ll have this conversation as many times as we have to. I love you, and I will do absolutely anything to keep you happy. Plus, it just so happens that this is my dream come true. So let me keep you happy for as long as I can.” He dropped a kiss on her neck, licked over the scar of his father’s mating bite, and she shivered. “For forever, if you’ll let me.” He took a deep breath, scenting her just behind the ear, and her aroma deepened into something like late spring strawberries, the big ones with the sweet, sticky juice that would drip down his chin at the first bite. It would have turned into much more if Sam hadn’t come barging in the patio door.

“I’m taking a shower!” he hollered on his way by.

Their early dinner consisted of individual pizzas: ham and pineapple for Mary (an abomination in Dean’s eyes), all the vegetables for Sam, and pepperoni, bacon, and sausage for Dean (an abomination in Sam’s eyes). Super Mario Kart followed, Mary winning three out of five circuits, and a movie of her choice (Marvel, because she hated horror with a passion) that everyone accepted would be continued the next night since they were all too sleepy to stay awake much longer anyway. Especially Mary, who was on her second glass of wine. The boys flopped on the sofa on opposite sides, Sam’s arm wrapped around his mother’s, his head heavy against her shoulder, Mary’s head tucked into Dean’s neck, his arm around her, scratching at Sam’s mop of hair.

There were a few minutes of slap-fighting over placement until Mary put a stop to it and the boys calmed down. But Dean just couldn’t wait for Sam to go to sleep to get another scent of his mother. It was from the top of her head, which still carried a tiny hint of salt water from the pool, but it didn’t stop him from stroking her hair and breathing her in.

Sam sat up and turned off the movie, which couldn’t mean anything good.

“Okay, look. Would you guys please just tell me what’s going on? Dean, you’re treating Mom like she has six months left to live, and there’s all kinds of other indicators that… Is this serious? I mean… terminal, serious?”

“No, gosh no, Sam, no reason to worry,” Mary said, “it’s not—”

“Mom,” Dean warned, but it was too late.

Sam snorted. “So there is something. Look, I only have a normal beta nose but it doesn’t make me stupid.”

“You’re the smartest person I know, Sammy,” Dean said. Mary shrugged._ I told you so._ She relocated to the oversized armchair in the corner, a cowardly move in Dean’s eyes but understandable just the same. She didn’t want to be in the line of fire.

“Then clue me in. Or do you want me to work it out for myself?”

Before Dean or Mary had a chance to say anything in their defense, Sam stood up and started pacing, ticking clues off on his hand like Sherlock Holmes. “So Dean calls me two days ago and asks about genetic omega disorders and I tell him what I found about CGA, where an omega can’t climax without a mate or someone from a mate’s bloodline. I do some more digging and find out that omegologists can only treat it by removing the omega prime gland, which turns an omega into a null. Are you with me so far?”

“You can skip to the end, Sam,” Mary said quietly.

“I would, but you haven’t _told_ me the end yet,” Sam said. “See, I know Dean is already home and you’re both probably going out to eat because Mom can make like two things and she saves that for when we’re all together. Which means you’re at a restaurant and you had three minutes to talk, you told me yourself, Dean. So you were waiting for Mom to come out of the restaurant, because it was about her. Are you with me so far?”

“Sam—”

“No, you guys, shut up. So obviously Mom’s going through something that will either make her null or cause serious complications and I’m expecting her to be all stressed out and not looking her best, you know? But no, here she is, hair all shiny, eyes sparkling, a little bounce in her step that she hasn’t had in a few years, you know, like omegas look when they’re getting really good sex. But nobody’s said anything about a new boyfriend.”

“Sam!” Mary said.

“Just getting to the good part. So we go to this grocery store, which was super cool by the way, and I walk in on this weird alpha-on-alpha showdown with Mom in the middle, and both the alphas have that red thing going on in their eyes, pupils dilated, hair on end—”

“You can’t see that from ten feet, Sam,” Dean said.

“Sure I can. It’s my superpower. Shut up.”

“Okay,” Dean said, uncharacteristically meek.

“And Mom’s exhibiting signs of omega arousal, and I’m not going into that because ick. So we FINALLY leave. And she doesn’t beat the crap out of you for posturing to Benny. And when you make a smart-ass comment about Benny not being her boyfriend Mom glares at you and you have a whole fight and make-up in ten seconds, plus you put your hand on the back of her neck to calm her down. Like Dad used to do. Like alphas do for their omegas. Dean, you’ve scented Mom four times since you picked me up today—that I’ve seen—and the last time you scented Mom you were still in high school having nightmares about Dad.”

“They weren’t about Dad. They were about losing Mom.”

A moment of silence followed Dean’s statement. Sam cleared his throat, then continued. “So, yeah, back then you’d want to get a good huff of her before you go back to sleep, I get it, I do. But now? Lovers scent each other like that. Mates. And you guys are standing about an inch closer to each other than you ever have before, but you’re not making eye contact. So what the actual fuck, man?”

“Sam,” Mary said in reproof. “Language.”

“Sorry,” Sam said, but he didn’t let up. “Will one of you please tell me what’s going on? This isn’t fair.”

“Dean,” Mary said quietly. “Can you…? I’ll get drinks.”

“Yeah.”

Mary unwound from her ball on the armchair and left the room.

Dean exhaled, a little more comfortable. “Yeah. It’s that thing you looked up for me. CGA. It means Mom can’t reach sexual climax unless her partner has enough genes shared by Dad.”

“Like maybe Dad’s half-brother Michael?”

“He didn’t work.”

“Toys?”

“Fuck, Sammy, I don’t know, I assume those didn’t work either.”

“So they’ve tried everything.”

“I asked her that too.”

“What’d she say?”

“I think she slapped me. It’s kind of a blur.”

Sam nodded sagely, as though he’d been expecting the response. “So, okay, that’s sad that she can’t, you know…”

“Yeah.”

“…but does it warrant drastic action? Like, um…”

“It does. Because the gland that controls it can get damaged if there’s not enough blood circulating. Damaged, like cancer damaged. They have to take it out. And, like you said, it would have made her null.”

Sam had nothing to say to that at first, but what he said next came from left field.

“Is this about the coma? Because I know you were really messed up about that—”

“I was four, dude. I barely remember it.”

“Calling massive piles of bullcrap on that. No one forgets coming that close to losing a parent. You knew what was happening. And you’ve always been a mama’s boy.”

“Anyone but you would be on the fucking floor for saying that.”

Just in time to break up the argument, Mary came back with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of iced tea. She set it on the coffee table and tried to return to the armchair across the room, but Dean caught her wrist and pulled her back. He sat her down on the sofa and held her firmly against him.

“How long have you known?” Sam demanded.

Mary looked at the carpet like it was the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, but Dean wasn’t about to let her duck out of this one.

“I started working with the team at St. James about a year ago,” she finally said. “It would have been over and done with if Dean hadn’t come home early for break.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam said, although Dean suspected he really did.

“The surgery,” Mary said. “It was scheduled for Monday morning. Dean talked me out of it.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “You were just going to do it before we got here? So we couldn’t argue about it, right?”

“That’s pretty much what I said,” Dean cut in.

“It was embarrassing!” Mary said. “You don’t talk to your kids about things like this!”

“You do if it turns you into a zombie, Mom!” Sam stood up. “All right, just so we’re clear. Mom, based on what I’ve seen over the last ten hours or so, is it reasonable to assume that you and Dean are having sex, and that you are successfully reaching climax regularly?”

Mary closed her eyes.

“Yes."

“Then I’m happy you found something that works, however weird and creepy it seems to me. Dean, I’m glad you were here, and I think you were right to handle the situation the way you did. Mom, I am pretty pissed at you right now and don’t you dare tell me to watch my language. Where are your medical records? I know you have a hard copy file around here somewhere and I want to see every single entry from the day you started going to St. James. You can send Dean with the folder or whatever but I just can’t even… Jesus.” With that, he stomped down the hall and slammed the door to his room so hard the ice cubes in the tea pitcher rattled.

Mary sighed deeply, and Dean wrapped his arms around her a little tighter. He waited for her to say something until he realized that she had nothing to contribute, and he thought maybe she’d contributed enough for a while.

“He’s a teenager,” he said. “He’ll get over it.”

“Dean. You’re a teenager.”

“Give me ten more months. Plus I get experience points for the last forty-eight hours.”

“You certainly do.”

Dean kissed her neck and licked up to her ear, then bit the lobe gently.

“God,” Mary whispered.

“Yeah. Bed? We still have one more bell to ring before your blood test tomorrow.”

“Yes. But quietly.”

Dean laughed. “You, quiet. Let’s see how that works out.” He stood, scooping his mother up like he was carrying her over the threshold to their wedding bed. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed the bedroom door with her toes.

He set her on the bed gently, to avoid making the mattress springs squeak, and kissed her. It wasn’t like the kisses he’d given her when he was fourteen, or even the night before—there was no urgency to it now, no desperation, just a careful exploration of her lips, an acceptance of her consent. It might have lasted for hours, until he heard her hum against him, reminding him that he did have a job to do.

All right, then. He peeled her T-shirt off, then ran his fingers down the slopes of her breasts, so entranced by the lace trim of her bra that he almost forgot to take it off at all. He snaked his hands around her back to unhook her bra strap, fascinated by the movement of her breasts caused by the relieved rolls of her shoulders. “You should never wear bras,” he whispered, and took a nipple into his mouth, making her gasp. “Shh. Am I going to have to gag you?”

She giggled, then bit her lip when he suckled the other nipple, grinding his substantial erection between her thighs.

“Need to get these off you,” he said, and unzipped her shorts. She wiggled, helping him slide them off, then squealed almost exactly like a mouse when he buried his face between her legs and inhaled deeply. He raised his head long enough to ask “How many pairs of white lace panties do you own, Mom?”

“I don’t keep count,” she said. “Do that again.”

He did, then rubbed the heel of his hand against her, darkening the panties with slick. “I wanna keep these,” he said. “I wanna keep them all.”

He pulled her panties down to bare her completely and opened her up to get access to her clit, which was already starting to swell. He skimmed her slit with his thumb, then couldn’t help but lick her to get a real taste. She whined, and he could just reach her face to cover her mouth with his hand to keep her quiet. She moved her head to the side and he felt her tongue on his index finger, then suction as she pulled it into her mouth. He grunted. She spat his finger out and said, “Shh.”

“Smart ass.” He retrieved his hand and found her slit again with his mouth, opening it to nuzzle her nub. Her soft curls tickled his nose and he tasted a trickle of slick as it dripped down his chin. He wanted more.

He laid down on the opposite side of the bed, parallel to her, and rolled them both over to position her on top.

“Sit on my face,” he whispered. “I want you to drown me.”

He could tell she wanted to speak but kept herself quiet by biting her lower lip. She scooted up to hover over his mouth, waiting for him to encourage her again, but he didn’t want to be coy. He slipped his arms behind her thighs and pulled her down to his lips, groaning against her. The movement of his tongue in her soft folds, circling her firm, swelling clitoris, finally sucking on it, was rewarded with a gush of slick and a soft, high moan that no lip-biting could possibly hold back. She braced herself on the headboard but he felt her quivering on his mouth, made worse when he drank her down, catching the liquid gold dripping down her hot thighs. He reached up, searching blindly for her breasts, finally palming her nipples and making her sob, either from pleasure or from the need to stay quiet. Again, he let his tongue wander over his mother’s swollen clit until her thighs shook and her nipples stood out like ripe raspberries.

He pushed her hips up for a moment. “Wanna come for me?”

She nodded frantically. He jerked her back down onto his mouth and attacked her clit with his tongue with short, steady strokes. In a matter of minutes, he felt another burst of hot slick stream down his throat, over his cheeks and chin, and into his ears. He groaned in response to her climax and she planted herself on his mouth to quiet him. It didn’t do much good. He could feel every fucking blood cell pulsing through his painfully hard cock and nothing was going to shut him up but pounding into his mother’s open, welcoming body.

As interested as he was in seeing how many times he could make her come on his tongue, he was, after all, a nineteen-year-old alpha who had just showered in his omega’s slick, and he was more ready to fuck than he’d ever been in his life. He pushed his mother’s hips up away from his face and, with some clumsy manhandling, got her face-down and ass-up on the bed. She was still dripping slick down the back of her thighs, and he took the opportunity to wipe it up using the head of his cock. Unnecessary, considering how wet he already was with pre-come, but damn it felt nice.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

She nodded, tilting her hips to present an absolutely stunning target. “Please.” It was the first time she’d begged him for it.

He nestled his cock between the lips of her pussy. “Do you want me to…”

“Knot me, yes, knot me, Dean. Do it.”

Fuck.

He slid inside her tightness and heat, unable to hold back the groan of consummation. Given permission and a perfect environment, his knot began to swell immediately, encouraged by her muscles squeezing around it. He leaned down to cover her with his body like any good alpha would do to protect his omega before knotting and had to close his mouth to keep from biting her over the mating scar his father had left. He plunged into her a handful of times, and despite his efforts to slow down the process, his knot wanted no part of the delay and was swelling with every thrust, opening her, until there was absolutely no more room to stretch her, and the only way for him to secure the knot was to slam one more time inside her in the moment before his knot expanded completely, locking them together. She inhaled like she had just been saved from drowning and threw her head back, inviting him to wrap her hair around his hand and pull it as he ground into her. His knot was so big now they could barely move at all, and he was trapped between his desperate need to come and his inability to pound her any more deeply than he had. They rocked against each other, testing the hold, and he felt a tremor deep in his abdominal muscles, trying to escalate into an explosion, but there just wasn’t enough—

“Dean,” his mother said. “Wrap your arms around me and be still.”

Dean whimpered against the back of her neck and obeyed.

She squeezed, hard, throttling his cock with almost as much power as his own hand.

His knot swelled impossibly inside her, releasing so much come that it hit her inner walls then tried to flow back out. But the knot was too tightly embedded, and not a drop would escape until it went down. God only knew when that would be.

He sank into her one last time, making her gasp, and then rolled them onto their sides to wait.

Once his breathing had slowed to something useful, Dean said, “So, maybe not so revolting?”

His mother blew a raspberry at him. “No need to be smug about it. And no. Not revolting at all.” She turned her head back to him and he kissed her despite the awkward position.

They fell asleep knotted together, Dean’s arm firmly around her ribs, nose glued to her neck, her scent surrounding him like the promise of heaven.


	4. Dean's a nester

Dean stretched in his pool chair when he heard the front door open, enjoying the last few moments of a mid-morning drowse before they left for the St. Augustine docks.

“Done!” his mother sang. “I have been poked and prodded quite enough for the rest of my life. But the blood tests are done, and I’ll hear back from Dr. Tran later today.” She swept through the patio like a spring breeze and kissed him on the head. “I suspect the hormone levels will be well with normal range. We just have to find out how much… I mean, how many… you know, in the future…”

Dean saved her. “Mom, as long as you keep letting me poke and prod you to my heart’s content, I’m sure your hormones will stay just fine.”

“I knew you’d say something like that. Where’s Sam?”

“Showering, I think. Kid is the squeaky-cleanest person I’ve ever known.”

“You’re not wrong about that. Did you pack up the cooler?”

“Pack what?”

“Dean! You said you’d put lunch together and—”

“Of course I did,” he said, pulling her down to his lap. He kissed her soundly and dug his fingers into her ponytail, enjoying making her shiver. “What, am I twelve now?”

“You were a good boy when you were twelve, too. Both my boys are the best.” She rocked herself up to standing and went back into the house to change. She came out wearing a demure swim set, a blue and white halter top over swim shorts, of all things. Which made no sense to Dean until he remembered the marks he’d been leaving on her upper thighs over the last two days. Probably it was a good thing she had the shorts, although a dangerous part of him wanted her in a bikini, to show off the bruises his mouth had made, to show everyone she belonged to him.

Mary knocked on the door to the boys’ bathroom and called, “Hey Mr. Clean! Let’s go!” Then she stopped, mouth hanging open. She escaped to the kitchen to get a glass of water and detoured back to the patio.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“I was just thinking that Sam is around the same age you were when your… hormones started heating up.”

“Oh, you think he’s in there whacking off? Because if he is, you just added another ten minutes to the process. Good job.” He snorted and went back to his examination of the insides of his eyelids.

“Damn,” she said. “And here I thought we might make it to the boat on time.”

The bathroom door opened with a rush of citrus-scented steam.

“Give me five minutes, guys!” Sam ducked into his bedroom to get dressed and was out in three. “Let’s go! Can we take Mom’s car? It has A/C. And it’s a hybrid.”

“And it’s not black,” Mary reminded Dean.

“Can someone please pull the knife out of my back?” Dean whined. “I expect it from Sam, but from you? Faithless woman.”

“You can drive.”

There was a slight pause before he conceded. “That’s okay then.”

They had been meaning to charter a sailboat since the day Mary moved to St. Augustine and hadn’t had the opportunity until now, when Sam and Dean were off school at the same time. They were going to wait until next January to do the pirate party boat for Dean’s birthday, but for now, the sailboat came in a fabulous second.

The waves off the marina were gentle even in the brisk wind, and Mary’s hair flew around her face like strands of beach grass. Dean sat close to her on the boat cushions—probably a little too close, but no one said anything, and there were no strange looks from the two sailors who were taking them out, no dark glares from Sam, either. Which left Dean with nothing to do but hold on to the rigging with one hand and Mary with the other, until they moored the sailboat several hundred yards off the coast of a small, deserted island.

“Anyone want to swim?” asked the captain.

“Unpack the snorkels, boys,” Mary said. “Time to see what’s underwater!” Dean grinned and she smiled back. “I thought by this time I’d be turning into someone else,” she said, so quietly that he could barely hear her over the sea breeze. “I can’t even tell you how grateful I am.”

He hugged her tight, making her squeal.

“There’s no need. I’m just glad I don’t have to hide from you anymore. I’m glad you know how I feel.” If they had been alone, he would have kissed her, but as it was, he could only lead her back to the transom of the boat and watch her jump in.

They played in the water for an hour, chasing fish and each other, Dean pinching Sam from behind and startling him at every opportunity, watching his mother swim and float in turns, more relaxed than he’d seen her in… well, ever.

That changed on the way home, when Mary got a phone call from Dr. Tran. Dean turned the music down (his mother’s car did have a phenomenal sound system, of course, given her profession) and he and Sam stretched their ears to eavesdrop shamelessly. There was nothing Mary could do to keep the conversation under wraps, and you don’t ask to call a specialist back, especially about news like this.

Dean heard Dr. Tran ask a question, but he couldn’t quite make it out.

“I’m honestly not sure, Dr. Tran. I haven’t exactly been counting. Definitely at least three…”

“Three what?” Sam asked from the back seat. “Oh, God. Ew.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean said.

“More than ten and less than twenty,” Mary finally said. “Although I’m counting the multiples as two and three depending on the duration… yes, I’m sure it affects the math.”

“I can’t be hearing this,” Sam wailed.

“Shut up, Sam!”

“Shh! Both of you, please! All right, I understand. Thank you so much for everything, Dr. Tran. I’ll see you in three months.” She ended the call and said, “That was ridiculous. Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves.”

Dean and Sam both protested loudly, talking over each other and hurling juvenile insults back and forth over the seat. And for just a moment, things felt blissfully normal.

Over enormous burgers grilled by Dean on the back deck, sweet potato fries, and the requisite mountains of salad, Mary ran over the spring and summer schedule with the boys.

“I've got a concert in Denver in July, and Sam has space camp—”

“Is that really a thing?” Dean asked through a mouthful of burger. “I thought that was just in the movies.”

“It’s a thing,” Sam said. “You’re just jealous.”

“Dude, you couldn’t pay me a million bucks to go up in a plane, let alone a freaking rocket. And I thought you were all about ABO studies, anyway. What does space have to do with alphas and omegas?”

“There are these other people called betas, too,” Sam said quietly. “Somebody’s got to run the world while the rest of you are rutting your brains out. And part of the program is about putting teams together, which means we have to figure out if alphas and omegas can even go on longer missions, and if betas might actually need the pheromones given off by the other designations and vice versa. There’s a lot we don’t know yet, and—”

“Yeah, okay, next!”

“Dean, let your brother finish his sentence, please.”

“It’s okay, I’m done,” Sam said. “I believe my point was made for me.”

Mary gave him a sideways grin. “I almost forget, I’m in Berlin for three days in May, but Sam, you said you could stay with Henry over the recess, is that still on the table?”

“Yep.”

“Berlin?” Dean said. “What’s in Berlin?” He didn’t like the idea of his omega being so far away, even though she wasn’t—technically—his omega.

“A Guarneri.”

“A what?”

“A violin, Dean,” Sam said, with an epic eye roll.

“Dude, how do you know that?”

Sam shrugged. “I know everything.”

“It’s not just any violin—it’s a three-hundred-year-old instrument that I’m assessing for the current owner, who’s putting it up for auction. It’s worth about 2.5 million, and they’d rather risk me on a plane to Berlin than the violin on a plane to Florida, and I’m inclined to agree with them.”

“Isn’t Berlin under a security watch? You know, since the kidnappings started?” Sam said. “Is Ellen okay with this?”

“Yes, and the client is providing security and transportation from the second my plane lands to the second it takes off. That will have to do because I’m going and that’s all there is to it.”

“Three days isn’t so bad, I guess,” Dean lied. It would be the longest three days of his life since his father died.

Mary stood up and dropped a kiss on his head. “I’m not asking for your permission, Alpha.”

“I didn’t mean—fine, maybe I was—”

“It’s okay.” She started putting food away from dinner. “Are we done?”

“No,” Dean said. “You never said how often you’ll need me to come out. Did Dr. Tran give you a timeframe or anything?” Sam had been thumbing away on his phone but went still at the question.

It took Mary several seconds to meet Dean’s eyes. She shook her head then, letting her hair fall around her face in an obvious defensive maneuver.

“She said about every six months would be enough. So you don’t have to… if it’s an inconvenience. I know you have work and classes and the mentorship.”

For a long moment, the only sounds were the ceiling fans and the tree frogs echoing in from the patio. Dean set his jaw and stared his mother down.

“It’s not an inconvenience. And it’s not enough.”

“Dean, this isn’t about… it’s about medical treatment, and I’m—”

“And that’s my cue,” said Sam, hopping up from his seat. “You are both officially freaks and I’m about to become severely traumatized. I’m sleeping over at Henry’s tonight.”

Mary called after him, her voice broken. “Sam! Please don’t…” She couldn’t finish, and Dean wondered if she even knew what the next words were supposed to be.

Sam turned around and stomped back across the kitchen, then threw his arms around her. “Mom, I love you. Never, ever think I don’t. And I love Dean.” He moved out of the embrace to look her in the eyes. “But no way is this normal, and I’m gonna find a way out of it for both of you. Whether you want me to or not. And no, I’m not gonna tell anyone, so chill about that.”

“I don’t want you to lie for me.”

“It’s not a big deal. We’re not the only messed-up family on the planet, and I’m not going to land in therapy for it. You guys might, but I’m good. I’m gonna pack a bag.”

As soon as Sam left the room, Dean took three long strides into the kitchen and pulled Mary into his arms. “Every six months? I can’t. I just. I need. It has to be more, Mom. Please.”

“Okay, shhh, hush, baby, we’ll work something out. I won’t leave you alone, Alpha, I promise.” She pressed her forehead to his and stroked the sides of his face. He shoved his nose into her neck and breathed heavily. “But.” There was always going to be a “but.” “This can’t go on forever. And we can’t do this all the time.”

“I don’t see why not. I’m the only one who can give you what you need. And you’re the only one I want to be with, there’s never been anyone else and there never will be.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He kissed her, his lips desperate and aching for hers—it had been hours since he’d last touched her properly—and was immediately rewarded by the tiny sound she made in the back of her throat. “Let me stay tonight. Sam knows what’s up, it’s why he’s going next door. I don’t have to work until 8 tomorrow morning, I’ll just leave early and go straight in.”

He kissed her again, trapping her against the kitchen counter. She resisted for all of a breath, and then he felt her relax, letting him take her weight like a good omega should. Trusting him with her life.

“Is the hot tub full?” he asked. “It’s been a long day. I know you’ve got to be sore.”

She smiled up at him. “It could use a top-off. But, yeah, that sounds nice. Let me get my other suit—”

“Oh, hell, no. No suits.” He bit her earlobe gently. “Just us.”

She sighed and nodded, all her arguments exhausted. For the moment.

Not even the tree frogs and crickets were up when Dean packed his duffel for the drive back to Tallahassee the next morning. He crept in and out of his room and hers, trying to cram as much contraband into his gear as possible, without waking his mother so she could question him about it. He checked his watch—his Dad’s chrome and leather monstrosity that came with the Impala—and saw that he had fifteen more minutes before he absolutely had to leave. His mother was sprawled face-down on the bed, one knee hiked up invitingly, giving him a gorgeous view of her bare backside peeking out from under the indecently short pink cotton nightgown she’d worn to bed only a few hours before. He wondered if she would be wet, even asleep, and decided he might only have the one chance to find out. She’d always been a heavy sleeper.

He shucked off his shorts, crawled over the mattress, and set his hands carefully on the perfect globes of her ass. He spread her open and leaned in close, hoping for a hint of fresh slick. And there it was, sweet and tangy and so rich that he could feel it coating his sinuses. If gold could have a scent, it would be his mother’s slick. He exhaled in frustration, his cock already half-hard.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He wiggled his nose between her cheeks and spread her just a little wider, enough to allow his tongue access to her hole, since the other option was out of reach by an inch or two, and he wasn’t picky.

She moaned, beginning to wake up, but she didn’t stop him, not even when he slotted himself behind her and lifted her leg back over his hip. He was fully hard now, and could even feel his knot starting to swell. He kissed his way across her shoulders to her neck, lining up their hips, and pushed inside her with one smooth, solid stroke.

That woke her up.

She whispered his name over and over like a mantra as he moved inside her, and he wanted to kiss her but he couldn’t stand the thought of keeping his name from her lips when it finally sounded like she wanted him the way he wanted her—desperately and deeply, not just because he was a means to an end. He set his teeth on her neck in a moment of cruel self-torment, made worse when she gasped in recognition, but didn’t move to stop him.

Fuck, would she let him do it? Would she let him bite over his father’s mating scar and claim her for himself? It was hard to think, buried as his cock was in her wet heat, but something in the back of his mind told him that mating her now would be the worst sort of possession, especially since she had already forbidden it, in very clear terms.

It took every ounce of self-control he had, but he stopped thrusting and snaked his arm around her waist to find her clitoris. Now it was just a matter of time – small movements with his cock inside her, slower circular movements around the head of her clit, and for God’s sake, do not come, Dean, be a fucking man about this, and don’t knot her. One more climax for her, one more wave of slick for him, and it would have to be enough for now.

“Come on, love,” he whispered. “Let me have it. Come for me. Come just for me.” And she did, quivering and bearing down on his cock with that unbelievable strength that still surprised him. He managed to keep his knot from popping, and he thought he had time to pull out before his own orgasm caught up with him, but damn if he wasn’t pulsing inside her before he knew it, pouring more come into her with every heartbeat. He may have made some embarrassing noises towards the end, but no one could possibly blame him, and his mother was the only one who heard, anyway.

Mary shifted on the bed and turned to trap him in the vee of her legs, wrapping them around his ankles and sliding her arms under his shirt. “You made another mess,” she said.

“You helped.”

“I love you.”

“I love you. I don’t want you to feel bad about this, okay? Just pretend it was a dream if you have to. Remember that poem you used to read to us? All that we see or seem—”

“Is but a dream within a dream.”

“Yeah. Let me go, Mom, I gotta hit the road.”

“Mm.”

She was asleep before he left the room. He wished he’d gotten her naked, so he could have taken her nightgown with him, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that Sam was gonna be seriously grossed out by Dean’s come-smell when he came back from Henry’s house. It was a small comfort.

It wouldn’t be fair to Sam if she spent his visit home pacing like a caged prisoner, but Mary felt like she was about to become one, as though the morality and child exploitation police were steps away from her door. Worse, she knew she deserved some kind of punishment, and imprisonment seemed a fitting one, or at least a good ramp-up to execution.

Using Dean to avoid a fate worse than death was wrong. He didn’t think so, obviously, but she did, and every hour that passed seemed to make the tension in her belly a little worse, until even Sam, who would usually choose to let a person keep their emotional cards close to the chest, brought it up over their bedtime ice cream ritual.

“I’m kind of glad you’re not happy about this,” he said, out of nowhere. “Not surprised that Dean’s doing the typical alpha male hero thing.”

“Mm,” she said in agreement, since she didn’t know where Sam was going with this and didn’t want to give him a path to follow if she could help it.

“You know he’s going to take this as far as he can.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Unless you can find a way to stop it. To fix it, without him.”

“What would that do to him, Sam?” she asked. “It would hurt him so—He’d leave. He’d—”

“Find someone else. Would that be so bad?”

“No, not at all. But he would hate me, and that would be bad.”

In between spoonfuls of mint chocolate chip, Sam said, “So the obvious question. Dr. Tran said you only need the power-up every six months.”

“The power-up? Really, Sam?”

He shrugged. “So why can’t you just do that? Wouldn’t that be an easier pill to swallow? Less of a crime against humanity?”

“It would be for me, but he said it wouldn’t be enough.” Mary’s ice cream did nothing to cool the half-truth burning in her throat. Could she say no, in the months between, to her own son, to the young man who had become the sweetest, most selfless lover she’d ever known? He wouldn’t make it easy on her. He knew what buttons to push now, he knew the words, the touches, where to kiss to get her wet and needy and—

“Mom,” Sam said.

“Sorry.”

“Maybe start with a simple solution. Maybe being with Dean has been like a hard reset, and you could do something now… on your own. To get where you need to be.”

“I’ve considered it,” she confessed. “And actually—”

“Yeah, no, I don’t need details, okay? But I’m fine with closing my door tonight and putting on those awesome headphones you got me for Christmas. They’ll block out anything.”

“It would be better if you’d sleep for eight hours a night like a normal teenager.”

“There are no normal teenagers, Mom. We’re all freaks. And I don’t know anyone who sleeps for eight hours a night.” He took care of the ice cream bowls, hugged her, and went to bed.

Headphones notwithstanding, Mary prowled the house until well past midnight, hoping to hear the unmistakable light rumble of Sam’s snores instead of the clicking of his keyboard. Around one, she was as sure as she could be that he was asleep.

She closed the bedroom door and locked it (Dean had repaired the lock that he’d broken, but the mirror would take a specialist), then pulled a rectangular box from under the bed, about the size of a suitcase. It needed a good sorting as much as her closet did—some of the items dated from when she was still experimenting with different lovers, different kinks, anything to get her within reach of an orgasm. The collection was of a respectable size and variety: vibrators, dildos with and without knots, cock rings, nipple clamps, plugs, a couple of types of gags, ankle cuffs, a spreader bar, but no wrist or arm restraints since Mary’s upper extremities belonged to her Stradivarius and no one else. She’d kept them all, even when it had become blindingly clear that she wouldn’t have any use for them after the procedure.

She’d gone to the shop in town the day before because it seemed wrong to use toys with Dean that she’d used with other lovers, although once you’re having sex with your own son, setting limits seems absurd—that ship has sailed, as Dean himself would say. So she’d bought her favorite stand-bys and made one other purchase, just for her. Hopefully she would be the only person to even see it, other than the enormous gay black man who was running the counter at Sinful that afternoon. And he didn’t give two shits, except to compliment her choice.

“That’s a good company,” he said. “You get what you pay for with these things, am I right?”

“You are indeed. Have a lovely afternoon.”

“You too, Miss Mary!” Strange that she’d been five years without an orgasm and the staff at the nearest adult novelty store knew her by name, because she just wouldn’t stop trying. Not until recently.

There had been no opportunity to test her purchase, not until Dean had left and Sam had gone to sleep. Putting it off was only feeding the anxiety beast, which would make things harder than they had to be. So to speak.

She laid a towel down on the bed, then decided another would be a good idea, and added a hand towel for general clean-up. She stripped off her nightgown and underwear, dug a bottle of lube from the box—that, at least, was new—and set out her new toy and an old favorite just to have it on hand, in case. She dimmed the lights, firing up the “relax” playlist, which was really an hour of blues that gave her permission to masturbate. God only knew why she felt she needed permission, but there it was. Stevie Ray Vaughn, take me away.

She put her hands on her belly and took a few requisite deep breaths, feeling simultaneously ridiculous and desperate. A chilly breeze swept through her bedroom, carrying the suggestion of the ocean a mile or so away, and her nipples stiffened without a touch of her own hands. Obviously they needed touching, though, so she ran her fingertips up over them, circling a few times, then slid her fingers in her mouth to wet them. Back down to her nipples, gliding slowly, pinching gently, then harder as she began to smell her own slick and realized the rough touches were working better than the lighter ones, as usual. Squeezing, smoothing, firmly working around her breasts, digging into the soft flesh with her nails like John used to do because he knew she liked it, finally eliciting a gasp of arousal.

Leaving one hand to tend to her breasts, she let the other float down her belly and cup the small mound of hair between her legs. A finger sank easily into the folds of her labia and she was pleased to note that it was more than wet enough for further penetration. To get something else in, she corrected. Clinical language would get her nowhere tonight.

Her middle finger found her clitoris and she gasped again, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction, remembering what Dean’s tongue had felt like on it, his ripe lips suckling it—

She froze, caught between the inherent wrongness of fantasizing about her son eating her out and the imminent need to encourage an orgasm so he wouldn’t have to eat her out again. Do I take a deep breath to calm down, or do I work with the tension to get me there?

She remembered she had tools at her disposal, and didn’t think too much about which one to use first. She lubed up the new dildo and set the cockhead between her legs, giving a small push to get it moving.

It was larger than any of the dildos in the box, larger than John, its head the size of a small apple, its girth nearly the size of her wrist, the surface texture velvet-soft, artistically veined and shaded to provide an almost perfect replica of an alpha cock. It was, in fact, almost exactly like Dean’s cock, which was reasonable, if she was going to give herself the highest chance of success. It had a ridged handle on one end, not a suction cup like most of the others, but she thought it would probably work even if things got a little slippery. And it had a remote control. She rocked her hips up to meet the dildo and pushed an inch more at the same time; rocked and pushed, rocked and pushed, until the silicone hit that spot, triggering a ripple of pleasure from deep inside all the way out to her toes and fingertips.

It wasn’t quite enough, but she hadn’t expected it to be. She had more weapons in the arsenal. And hell, just the sound of Stevie Ray’s guitar was enough to get her nipples hard again. The man had to have had spectacular hands.

She wiggled her hips enough to get the dildo as deep as she could, then squeezed her inner muscles around it to hold it in place while she fumbled around for the vibrator. It was a tiny thing, but powerful enough that at its highest setting, she could feel it in her ass when it was just buzzing around her clit. She wiped her hand to get a grip on the little toy and hit the button to get it started.

“Oh, fuck.”

She’d started as low as it could go and she knew immediately that this was the magic charm, the vibrations moving in powerful waves from her clit, through the dildo that had stuffed her full, setting that to its own special harmonic, ramping everything up to the next level, past arousal straight to breathless exhilaration. With a firm grip on the handle of the dildo, she rolled her hips down on it, small movements at first and then, to hell with it, pounding that bastard up inside her almost as hard as Dean had fucked her not twelve hours before.

Remembering Dean, she felt slick leaking onto the towel, and it was enough to keep the dildo moving, but nothing like the ridiculous gushing he drew just from kisses alone. But the whole point was to do this without him, to factor him out of the equation, so there had to be something else to think about. Firefighters. Yes, oh definitely yes. Half-suited, sweaty alpha firefighters with cocks so hard and thick and long they pushed up past the waistbands of their underwear. A group of them stripping her down to lace panties, one underneath her, lapping slick from her clit, another with his hand tangled in her hair, feeding his cock deep into her throat, another slamming into her from behind, the others standing around stroking themselves and each other, waiting their turn, and whether or not those bodies actually fit in real life didn’t matter in the slightest.

She rolled onto her belly then wiggled up to kneel on the bed, still fucking herself, and closed her eyes, fast-forwarding the movie in her head to the end, where all the men circled her and spoke soft words to her, praising her mouth, her tits, her cunt, her ass, then one by one, tilted her head back and came on her face, in her hair, on her lips.

"Please," she whispered. "Oh, please." She was about to shatter, to crack wide open from the bliss and pain, letting out years of longing and desperation, but she couldn't, and her body stayed stubbornly closed off from release, like a door that wouldn't fly open, no matter how hard she pounded on it.

There was one more thing to try. She fumbled around on the coverlet for the remote control and centered herself over the dildo. Easing her hips as low as they could go without hurting herself, she hit the button and thanked God for Bose headphones and a deep-sleeping youngest son. When the dildo popped its knot inside her, she threw her head back and moaned, feeling her nipples tingle painfully, her clit throbbing against the vibrator, her pussy stretched wider than on any other cock she’d had save one—Dean's.

She gave up fighting it and let the memories of the last four days wash over her, squirming on the dildo and seeing her son's lips sucking bruises into her thighs, his tongue on her clit, his earnest green eyes boring into hers as he fucked her, feeling the smooth, hard flesh of his cock laying heavy on her tongue before she began sucking him down.

After several long minutes of this brutal, unfulfilling torture, she hit the button on the remote control again, and the knot deflated. She fell back on the bed and pulled out the dildo, resisting the urge to throw it across the room.

Once her breathing and heart rate slowed to a more or less normal rate, she collected the toys she had set out with such high hopes not an hour ago, cleaned them, and put them all back in the toy box. She would cull the older items when she got around to it, but sooner would be better than later. The last thing she needed was to have memories of a faithless husband lurking around to bite her in the ass when she least expected it. But who knew? That other woman he’d hidden for a whole year, the one he’d saved from the horrible creatures they’d promised each other they would stop fighting, well, she could be dealing with the same problem. Unable to reach any sort of orgasm without John Fucking Campbell moving things along. Maybe there was a witch somewhere who wanted revenge on John and took it out on both his wives after he died.

But at least Mary had Dean.

* * *

Dean was a born grease monkey, and under normal circumstances he would work late at Bobby's auto shop every chance he got, but these were not normal circumstances. He'd felt fine the day before, when he'd first returned from St. Augustine, had worked his full shift and come back to the empty apartment to unload the armfuls of laundry that he’d stolen from his mother’s house. They needed washing, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, just tossed the sheets and pillows on his bed and hoped they smelled like her the next day, and the day after that.

Day two wasn’t so easy. He felt like he’d been hit by a flu bug that wrecked his body and his heart at the same time, like someone had died without saying good-bye. No breakup had ever been this bad, and it wasn’t even a breakup anyway, just a brief separation, and one that wouldn’t last very long, if he had anything to say about it. It didn’t make sense.

When his roommate came home, she gagged even before saying hello to the moping body on the sofa.

“Damn, Dean, what the hell have you been into? Smells like the death of all hope and happiness in here.”

“It is.”

“Well, shit. What happened over break, man? Hang on, let me grab us some brews and you can catch me up. Dorothy says hi, by the way.”

“Hi. And I don’t wanna catch you up, Charlie. I just wanna die,” Dean said into the couch cushion.

“You probably shouldn’t put your head there,” Charlie said. “That’s my TV spot and I made chili last night.”

“Too late. Don’t care.”

“Obviously.” Charlie retrieved the promised beers and pulled Dean into a sitting position. An alpha herself, she had unusual strength for a woman, and he couldn’t tell her no—there was the best friend aspect of the relationship to consider as well and the roommate factor. “Here.” She wrapped Dean’s hand around the beer and he didn’t have much of a choice but to take it. No one was forcing him to drink, but still it was starting to seem like a really good idea. He downed half the bottle in one greedy swig.

“There we go,” she said, taking her bright red hair down out of the ponytail she wore for lab classes. She smelled faintly like formaldehyde, but Dean had done his own time in the biology labs and it didn’t bother him much anymore. “Now tell me everything. Start with the omega whose scent is all over the apartment. Him? Her?”

He couldn’t stop himself. “Her.”

“Well, that’s a start. Did you meet her at your mom’s place?”

“Sort of. We’ve been… I’ve known her for a while.”

“Childhood sweethearts?”

“Okay, just stop.”

“Dude, why are you being a dick about this? You and me, we have spousal privileges. So not only can you tell me everything, you must tell me everything. And I will never, ever squeal on you.”

“I know you wouldn’t. That’s not the problem," Dean grumbled.

“So there is a problem.”

“Goddamn it.” Dean finished his beer and started to get up, but Charlie yanked him back down to the couch.

“Look, I’m sorry, really I am. I’ll try not to be so pushy about it. But I hope you tell me what’s going on, if for no other reason than I kinda love you and give a shit about you, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. And it’s good to see you.” He didn’t pull away when she hugged him, but it was a close thing. Her usual spicy bay-and-basil scent just didn’t smell right, and not because she was overdue for a shower. She just wasn’t his mother. He kissed her on the forehead and realized that she’d smooshed her nose into his neck and was scenting him without a scrap of shame.

“Okay, it’s not good to see you,” he said, pushing her away. “That was just fucking rude and invasive and I’m going to drink all your goddamned beer now.” He stomped into the kitchen for another beer but did at least get her one, too.

A text came in from Sam, and he pounced on it, not knowing why—except that Sam was at least living in the same house with his mother at the moment, and maybe something of her would come through in the messages. Which was ridiculous, but Dean was past logical thinking. And it was about his mother, after all.

_Dork Hey_

_Dean Hey. How’s Mom?_

_Dork She's totally miserable, you stupid jerk. You went and bonded with her. Did you do it on purpose?_

_Dean 1) She's not the only one who’s miserable 2) We were kinda bonded already 3) Of course I didn’t do it on purpose it’s not something you can avoid asshole_

_Dork At least you didn't bite her_

_Dork You didn't bite her, did you?_

_Dork Because that would be really stupid and possibly criminal in several states_

_Dean Did you see a bite?_

_Dork They're not always on the neck_

_Dean I didn't bite her_

_Dork Tell me again there was no other way to do this_

_Dean There wasn't_

_Dork Any chance you could come back in a week? She's really miserable_

_Dean You said. I'll try to get more time off. I miss both of you actually_

_Dork I so do not believe that_

_Dean Whatever, bitch_

_Dork Eloquent as usual. Dork out_

Dean dug around in the utensils drawer for a bottle opener and popped the top off beer number two. He turned to ask Charlie if she was ready for her next one and saw her standing in the now open doorway of his bedroom, mouth agape, eyes as wide as he’d ever seen them, even when they’d dropped acid together last year during winter break. The smell of his mother’s slick and his come combined rolled out of the room like blustering, unstoppable storm clouds. Charlie knew his mother’s scent just from their casual acquaintance, and while Charlie had never had sex with his mother (he shuddered at the thought), any alpha could smell omega slick. Add those elements to Dean’s scent and there was really only one conclusion.

“Dean,” Charlie said, moving smoothly from shock to menace, “what did you do?”

“Do you really need an answer to that?”

Charlie blinked her eyes a few times. “Yes to the next beer. This may take some drinking.”

Dean nodded, popped a new beer open and handed it over to Charlie, who started in on him as soon as she took the first swig.

“Okay, look, this obviously isn’t my business—”

“Nope,” Dean said.

“But I can’t imagine this happened without a reason. You know, there’s this taboo thing about incest.”

“Yep.”

“I won’t tell anyone anything. You know that by now.”

“It’s not my secret to keep. It’s Mom’s.” Despite his misgivings, he launched into an abbreviated version of CGA and how it would have affected Mary if he hadn’t forced the issue.

“Okay but you didn’t force anything. You couldn’t have. It’s not you.”

“I got consent every step of the way.”

“Damn. Was it… horrible? Because if my mom were… just, oh God, I couldn’t even. But your mom, damn. A little different.”

Dean rubbed his face to get a moment to think. Charlie was his best friend. There was no one else he could talk to about this—Sam was disgusted by the whole situation and his mother was still dead set against making it a long-term relationship. And every second he was away somehow made it harder to breathe.

“It was amazing.”

Charlie let out a long sigh, as though she’d been waiting for him to get to the good stuff.

“For both of you, do you think?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.” She set her beer down and threw her arms around him, this time not to sniff but to comfort. “You’re totally overdue for some awesome.”

He pulled back. “You’re not…”

“Squicked out? Meh. Maybe a little, but honestly, if you two can make each other happy, then I hope you do. And I hope your mom gets over her issues with it. You both deserve a little bliss.”

Dean remembered the feeling of his mother’s come dripping down the side of his neck, the smell of her laying in his arms waiting for his knot to go down, sleepy and sated.

“But you don’t have to be blissful like right now. Because I love you like a brother, and I’m glad your mom likes you all hot and horny, but it’s really kind of gross from this side of the kitchen.”

Dean gave her a quick, there-and-gone smile that made her dark amber eyes sharpen immediately.

“You’re sad.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said, leaning back against the refrigerator, resisting the urge to slam his head back into it. “I miss her. And I don’t feel like she’s safe without me.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it.”

“No, really, I’d die without her, I know that—but it’s just my alpha is freaking out because I can’t protect her. We met this guy she’d been dating and I swear I almost tore his fucking throat out even though he wasn’t any kind of a threat. You’d think I’d feel more secure about her, of all people.”

“So why wouldn’t you? Come on, Winchester, I’ve never heard you ask a question you didn’t already know the answer to. Puke it up.”

Dean finished his beer and went for number three, but Charlie stopped him. “We’re going back out in a little while, buddy, and I don’t want you crying-over-your-mama drunk when we do. You’re still a lightweight. So talk. Don’t make me call that psych major I used to date because that would get seriously awkward.”

By the time she had finished her speech, she had led him back to the chili-fart-infused sofa and pulled him down beside her.

"Seriously, this is not—” Charlie glared at him, as if daring him to evade the question again. “Fine. When Sammy was a baby, our house burned down."

"Oh crap, Dean."

"It's okay. Everyone's okay. It was an electrical thing—old house, bad wiring. No one's fault. I got Sam out and gave him to our neighbor to hold, then went inside to find Mom. She'd fallen and hit her head, totally unconscious, and I tried to drag her out, I did the best I could, but I was four, you know? And she's not a small woman."

"You carried your brother when you were four?”

“He was a baby, he didn’t weigh much.”

“Why did your neighbor let you go back into a burning house? What the hell? Where the fuck was your dad?"

"Neighbor lady told me later that I was kinda like a wild animal trying to get back inside. She couldn't keep me back and hold Sam at the same time. I gave her a pass on that, the woman was like seventy-something. As for Dad, he was just Out. No one actually said where he was that night. I asked Mom once, and that's all she said. 'Out.'"

"Um."

"Yeah."

"So go on," Charlie said, poking him.

"Stop it," Dean said, slapping her hand away. "So the fire department showed up. They couldn't save the house, but they saved Mom and all the houses around us. Mom went to the hospital and stayed there for two weeks."

"For a knock on the head?"

"She was in a coma from a brain bleed."

"You are so shitting me.This is Dr. Sexy-level drama here."

"She woke up after nine days and we took her home. Ish. We didn't really find home for a while after that," Dean said, really wanting Beer #3, but Charlie was a pain in the ass when she dug her heels in.

"And you were four."

"It's fine, Charlie."

"It's really not. You're not putting any of this together, are you?" Charlie had grabbed handfuls of her own hair in frustration, and Dean suspected it was because she was trying not to hit him.

"Sure. I'm trying to make up for not being able to save my mother when I was four. But she didn't die, Charlie. I have no deep-seated issues—”

"And your dad died when you were fourteen, like six months after you presented alpha. But hey, no pressure to keep the fam together, right?"

"This isn't about my psyche. This is about saving my mother's life."

"Yeah? You wanna tell me you weren't enthusiastic?"

Dean remembered the first press of his mother's lips and the taste of her slick on his tongue. He shrugged. "You've seen my mother. Who wouldn't be?"

Charlie sighed. "I can't argue that. Holy cannoli, I thought you didn’t do chicks because you were gay. Or maybe had a thing for alphas.”

“No, I think I’m matrisexual.”

Charlie shuddered. “Don't say that word to me again, Winchester. Ever. Don't even say it in my presence. Or if I'm in the house.”

“You were the one who wanted me to talk.”

Charlie ignored his comment. “Look, you’re officially pining, and this is gonna get worse before it gets better. But you had the right idea when you stole all that laundry. You need a nest, young alpha.”

“That’s an omega thing. Alphas don’t nest.”

“Don’t know who told you that, buddy, but it’s not true. And you need to pick your mother’s panties off the floor where you dropped them on the way in."

"Sorry," Dean said, dropping his head in his hands. "I didn't realize. Swear to God I'm never gonna see white lace again without chubbing up. Don't let me go shopping for curtains unsupervised."

"Oh my God you did not just say that. I don't know whether to throw up or jack off."

"If you jack off I don't wanna hear about it."

"Dorothy probably wouldn't either," Charlie said. “When do you see your mom again?”

“Five weeks.”

“You’ll make it, puppy. Go take a shower and we’ll find you some spanking new body pillows you can cover with those nasty sheets in there.”

“Okay.”

But the sheets didn’t smell nasty to him. They smelled like his mother. Like his mate.


	5. Shit goes south

Bobby Singer had been promising his crew air conditioning for going on two years now, but he hadn’t come through, and Dean suspected he wouldn’t until someone actually dropped dead of heat stroke and he had to deal with worker’s comp. So when when Bobby accused Dean of slacking off and not paying enough attention to the radiator install he was supposed to be doing on a late model Buick, Dean blamed the heat and said so.

It had nothing to do with his mother.

But of course it had everything to do with her. Back at school, he’d gotten his head above water after a week or so, thanks to Charlie’s support in the form of a steady supply of booze and video games, and the very real likelihood that he was going to tank his Intermediate Bio final and lose his summer mentorship if he didn’t get his shit together.

In which case his mother would skin him alive, and Sam would preserve the remains for science.

Once the pining had stopped kicking his ass into the floor like a goddamned dirty-fighting MMA fighter, Dean should have been sensible and stayed safely at school. Instead, he’d begged Bobby for the next possible Saturday off (waiting for it was the longest three weeks of his life), given Baby a tune-up, and jumped on I-95 towards home, driving through the morass of construction to get to his mother’s house before she went to sleep that night.

But she was already asleep, and the house was a wreck, according to her standards. It smelled worse than it had the day before her scheduled procedure; an acrid fog of sadness and shame hung heavy in the air and he felt horrible that she’d been living through this alone since Sam had gone back to S&T.

He’d stayed for two days of hard, desperate fucking, multiple knottings, and an indiscreet quarrel in Pellicanus Park when they’d gone running together Saturday afternoon. It started when he floated the idea that mating was known to cement bonds between partners, to actually merge their DNA so the separation that was wrecking them both would be easier to handle.

She had flown completely off the handle. The age difference was absurd, she said. She wouldn’t give him or anyone else kids, she wasn’t going to lose her freedom, and she hadn’t forgotten that having sex with your son was just wrong.

She had run from him, and he had given chase, catching her and shoving her against a palm tree in front of God and everyone, kissing her senseless, his erection pressing huge and painful against her.

When he’d left before dawn on Monday morning, he scented her one last time, burrowing his nose into her neck. Something else was there now, other than her strawberry sweetness, a deep edgy forest smell, with evergreens and moss and loamy dirt made fertile by years of fallen leaves.

That’s me, he’d thought. I’m part of her again.

Even days later, the memory of that moment was never very far away, and apparently it came through in his work, because after another hour of fighting the uncooperative Buick, Bobby pulled him off the floor and told him to get the hell out before he became a safety hazard.

On his way out, Olivia, the assistant manager, upbraided him for not turning off his phone during his shift, since it had apparently been blowing up for a while now, but it had been in his locker, so she couldn’t silence the damn thing.

“Sorry, Olly,” he said. “Won’t happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t.”

He spent some time drying off sweat before even trying to pick up his phone, and came close to dropping it anyway when he saw the history.

He’d missed four calls and three voice mails. Then he saw the caller I.D. and his stomach didn’t just drop—it somehow disappeared, leaving a useless hollow place that couldn’t even manage to get nauseous.

Not bothering with the voice mails, he called Ellen Harvelle back and she picked up immediately.

“Dean, did you get the messages?” Her voice was like rusty barbed wire, low, tight, and angry.

“No, I called you first.”

“Are you driving? Because I need your full attention.”

“You got it. What’s up?”

“Pack a bag and find your passport. Your mom's been taken.”

“What... what the fuck, Ellen.”

“She was kidnapped in Berlin, on the Guarneri trip.”

“When?”

“Six hours ago.”

Dean went to his locker and grabbed his wallet and the keys to the Impala. “Olly!” he shouted. “I’m gone. Tell Bobby it might be… I don’t know. I’ll call him when I can.”

“Dean, are you okay?”

“No.” There was no point in dicking around about it. He was anything but okay. “Ellen, I’m back.”

“I’m on my way to JFK now, and I’m going to meet you in Berlin as soon as your plane touches down. Is Sam with you?”

“He's at school. I'm leaving now to get him. Can you book flights for us?”

“Working on it. You'll fly out of Orlando, but I can't give you any information beyond that until I get the airline schedules. As soon as I do, I'll send you the itinerary.”

Dean thought, calculating mileage versus the chance of being stopped for speeding. The pounding of his heart and the sudden light-headedness was making it hard to work with the numbers.

"We can be there in seven hours, maybe a little less," he said, sliding into the Impala and barely feeling the afternoon heat built up inside it. “There’s got to be a flight leaving tonight. They have red-eyes for a reason.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Get your brother and go straight to the airport. And be safe. Driving a hundred miles an hour across the state isn't going to help anyone."

"Six hours. Ellen, what happened? She said they were supposed to have security."

“They’re not sure, but… shit. They’re not sure.”

“Bullshit. Just tell me,” he growled, slamming the car door.

“Omega traffickers. There was a ring operating out of Hungary, apparently they moved to Berlin over the last few weeks. The police don’t have any solid leads yet, so they’re not giving me real answers. But they’re searching every inch of the city.”

“Jesus. Oh, fuck.”

“Get your brother, Dean. She'll want you both there when we find her." She didn't make any more promises, and she didn't make any effort to comfort him. Her voice, gravelly and soft, was enough.

He raced to his apartment and did what Ellen had told him. Stripped out of his shop coveralls, found his passport, packed a bag, called Sam and told him to do the same thing. He didn’t want Sam to have to worry on his own for four hours, but they needed every second. Rational Dean knew that once they got to Orlando they’d be waiting a while for the flight to take off, but Alpha Dean was screaming to get on the plane, even though he hated flying more than anything else on the planet.

As soon as Dean signed Sam out of Science & Tech, the boy bolted down the sidewalk to the visitor’s parking lot, threw his bag in the back seat of the Impala, and took shotgun.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “She’s going to go where she wants, and she should be able to do that. You can’t protect her all the time, Alpha. Let’s go.”

Dean drove, and for a miracle, wasn’t stopped. But there was no AC/DC in the cassette player, no half-full bottles of hot soda, no bickering or asking for bathroom breaks. Occasionally Dean’s phone would chirp and Sam would check for messages, one from Bobby that said _get in touch when you can and let me know what the hell is going on with you_, one from Charlie that said _bring her back safe,_ which made the road suddenly blurry, and one from Ellen, with a link to their itinerary and boarding passes.

_I’m in the air now but I’ll text you as soon as I land_, said the rest of the text. _I’ll wait for you at the gate, and then we’ll go find her._


	6. Berlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a non-con warning here for a reason.

After several trips overseas with Mary for performances and vacations, the boys were no strangers to airports, bizarre traffic patterns, and foreign languages. Normally being so far out of their comfort zone wouldn’t have bothered them much; as long as family was close by, they could handle most anything, and had.

This was different. The flights had been bad for Dean, although he never had good ones anyway, even with sedatives. To the dismay of their fellow passengers, he spent the relatively short domestic hop trapped in the toddler-sized restroom, trying not to throw up, and the longer flight from Newark to Berlin trapped in the slightly larger restroom, throwing up continually. It was his own fault, because despite Sam’s warning, he’d looked out a cabin window and caught a glimpse of gleaming blue ocean and nothing else. That was enough to wreck the trip across the pond.

As she’d promised, Ellen met them at the gate. Years ago, when Ellen was still representing virgin composers, she had heard Mary play at an upper crust wedding in Bal Harbour and decided on the spot that she was too goddamned good to rot away in St. Augustine. Also, she’d taken one look at Mary’s stunning baby blues, golden hair, and drop-dead gorgeous body and knew she could make a shitload of money for the both of them.

She’d been right, of course. But now it was more about friendship than money, and had been for a while. She was as much family to the Winchesters as anyone else was, since Mary’s people were out of the picture. So they owed each other honesty, at least.

“Looks like you’ve been through hell,” she said to Dean, giving him a short, hard hug.

“You have no idea.” It was good to see her, but a little weird as always, since she looked a whole lot like his mother and they were often taken for sisters.

“Hey Sam,” she said, wrapping her arms around the younger boy in a longer embrace. She nodded to the duffel bags they were carrying. “That all you got?” They nodded, and she said, “Okay. The auction house has a car waiting to take us to the hotel. They’re bending over backwards trying to help.”

“What hotel?” Dean demanded. “Why aren’t we going to the station? I want to talk to the agent in charge of the investigation.”

“He’ll be coming to see us,” Ellen said. “This ain’t Chicago P.D., Dean, and we can talk in the hotel as easily as at the station.”

“No, goddamn it, we should—”

“Alpha,” Sam said, grabbing Dean by the shoulder none too gently. “Chill. Out. Do you really want your little brother looking like the calm one in this situation?” He continued, not waiting for Dean’s response. “Ellen, are we staying in Mom’s hotel? I’d like to poke around her room if they’ll let me.”

“Don’t see why not. We can probably sweet-talk the front desk to hand over a key card.”

They hiked through the main terminal under an ultramodern matrix of bright chrome squares and triangles that made Dean’s head ache, as if it weren’t already hard to hear Ellen over the constant low frequency noise of the airport. He smelled pastries and sausages from snack shops and wondered if his mother had gotten any on her way to the transport lines. If the auction house had sent someone to personally escort her from the gate to the car. If she’d had security with her when she was taken.

Ellen led them to an immaculate brown SUV with a driver who opened the door for them and closed them after. It was probably Dean’s imagination, but he thought he smelled a hint of his mother in the vehicle, as though she’d been in the car a day or two before. The idea made him want to shove everyone out so he could sniff the seats like a blood hound.

He couldn’t bring himself to care about the landmarks that they were passing on the way to the hotel—they looked impressive and he was sure his mother would know all of them (and would have insisted on seeing every single one in person) but no one pointed them out or said anything at all, really. Sam would have cared, on any other day. Not today.

Regent Berlin was the exclusive kind of place that didn’t even bother identifying itself. There was no name on the gold awning, and no name plate on the building itself, nor on the revolving glass door they had to maneuver through on their way in. Once in the lobby, Ellen lifted her chin and got the “Try Me” look that always made Dean suspect she could have presented alpha if one little chromosome had been popped into a different spot on her DNA chain. As a beta, and a champion for her clients, she was pitiless and unrelenting, and for a moment, Dean almost felt sorry for the guy behind the reception counter.

_“Guten abend,_” she said. _“Sprichst du Englisch?”_

“Of course, Madam,” he said smoothly. “How may I assist?”

“My client was abducted yesterday. We need to look at her room immediately and book it for another few nights, if that’s possible, along with another single room as close to hers as possible. Can this be arranged through you or should I bring in my contacts at the _Landeskriminalamt_ to get the process started?” The smile she gave him was gorgeous and predatory. Guy didn’t stand a chance.

“Madam, we are… honored to assist,” he said, deftly avoiding the “happy to help” placebo, which would have been all kinds of insensitive and might have gotten him fired. “Your name?”

“Ellen Harvelle.”

“The name of your client?”

“Mary Winchester.”

“And the name of your contact?”

“Victor Henriksen, United States FBI, working directly with the LKA. His number,” she said, passing a card over the counter. The man took the number, then picked a speed-dial code on an older switchboard. The call was answered on the second ring, and a quick exchange of information followed, none of which Dean could understand except his mother’s name.

The concierge hung up, nodded to each of them, and said, “Will three cards be sufficient?”

It would, according to Ellen, and while Dean had no need for a porter, one appeared out of thin air anyway, pushing a shiny brass-framed luggage cart. Ellen shot him a glance and shrugged. When in Rome… or Berlin, as the case was. Dean handed over his duffel as did Sam and Ellen, and they made their way up to rooms 1740 and 1742.

His mother’s accommodation wasn’t a room, actually. It was a full suite, which would have been great if his mother were there to enjoy it: the sitting room draped in dark blue damask, with a cherrywood coffee table and a matching writing desk that looked to be about two hundred years old, walls painted the gold of autumn leaves, coordinating (not matching, she’d taught him the difference) bedside tables, and lush, pristine bedding on the queen-sized bed.

Her scent lingered as though she was just around a corner. Combined with the sight of his mother’s traveling violin set against the writing desk, it almost brought him to his knees.

He set his duffel by the bed with a noticeable thunk, on the side where she usually slept, and Sam snorted. "Way to claim your territory, Dean. Just don't scent-mark the whole freaking bed, okay? I have to sleep here too."

They hung up their jackets and Ellen found bilingual room service menus, which Sam translated on his tablet anyway, along with whatever else was keeping him busy. It was irritating to watch his brother indulge in online crap at a time like this, but at least he wasn’t the kind of kid to be posting this shit on Instagram. They ordered unexceptional food, and didn't expect it anytime soon, given that it was nine at night, Berlin time. While they waited, Dean prowled the rooms, snooping shamelessly, looking for something, but he didn't know what. Sam stayed glued to his tablet, his typing patterns suggesting he was chatting with someone, but Dean suspected he would have to pry Sam’s tablet out of his cold dead hands to find out who the other person was.

“Sam,” he snapped. “You can’t put your shit down for five fucking minutes?”

“Sorry. I’ll finish up.” He did, in a matter of seconds, then set the tablet aside. “What happens now?”

Ellen typed a final message in her own conversation and then set down her phone. “Now Henriksen will show up in about three minutes to brief you.”

There was a knock at the door and Dean looked through the peephole to see a woman in formal black and white serving attire waiting with a rolling cart topped with their food. Still not terribly hungry, he opened the door anyway and let the server in. Ellen tipped her and the woman nodded and left without a word.

Sam uncovered the dishes on the cart and picked at his salad like it might have bugs in it. Dean mangled a soft pretzel without eating it, but it was something to do while they waited for Henriksen to show up. Dean finally gave up on the pretzel just as another knock sounded at the door. Ellen opened it this time, admitting an average-sized beta male with dark skin, a perfectly trimmed mustache and goatee, wearing a suit that had been working double overtime.

“Victor Henriksen,” he said, introducing himself to the group. “Winchesters?”

“And Harvelle,” Ellen said. “This is Dean and Sam. You and I have spoken enough I think you know my social security number by now.”

He shook hands with them all, and was neutral enough that Dean’s alpha didn’t feel the need to start waving his dick around. And he wasted no time in getting down to business.

“There were seven omega abductions in Budapest this year,” Henriksen said. “All taken in different vehicles, all the victims coming from different races, jobs, economic status… nothing we can predict. We can’t even know how they’re being chosen. Your mother is the second to be taken here in Berlin, and she’s about as random as you can get—she’s foreign, she has no ties to Europe that we know of—does she?”

Dean and Sam shook their heads.

“She has no regular schedule here and we’ve vetted the people who knew where she was going yesterday afternoon.”

“Who’s that?” Dean said.

“The auction house coordinator, their security units, the violin seller, the student she was with, and her family.”

“What student?” Sam asked.

“A young lady from the UDK College of Music. Won a day with your mom as part of a scholarship program.”

“What happened to her? And what about the security detail that was supposed to be with her?” Dean demanded.

“Okay, ease down, Dean,” Ellen said. “Victor, how about you pull up the video? They were fairly close to a CCTV camera, so the footage is decent. Just keep it together, guys. Okay?”

Both the boys mumbled something that might have been agreement while Henriksen pulled out a laptop and loaded a video file from the police intranet. It was in black and white, but it was clear who was who. Mary’s taller frame came into view first, walking down a sidewalk wearing a large cross-body purse and a loose braid hanging down her back. A smaller woman wearing a backpack violin case was walking beside her. Mary was gesturing about something with her entire upper body, and Dean caught a glimpse of a grin when she turned to her companion as they walked. She was enjoying herself. Traffic came and went as the women kept a good pace down the sidewalk.

“Where’s the security guy?” Dean asked.

“Couple of feet away from the women,” Henriksen said. “The guy in the dark suit and the hat.”

“You can see the ear—” Sam was interrupted by the arrival of a large dark-colored van, the kind that his mother always called “pedophile specials.” It drove past the women by about twenty feet before stopping to let out three people, who appeared to be two men and a woman. The woman, dressed in plain jeans and a black t-shirt, went straight to the security guard and took him down so quickly Dean could hardly follow her movements. The men grabbed one woman each and dragged them to the van’s open door. Unburdened by a violin, Mary fought like a wildcat, almost slipping out of her abductor’s grasp several times before the man grabbed her hair and wrapped the leather strap of her purse around her neck. He twisted both, immobilizing her, and threw her into the van, which was no easy feat, as Mary wasn’t a small woman. The girl with the violin was tossed in behind her, but then seemed to fly out of the van as though she’d been pulled by a bungee cord.

“We’re pretty sure that was your mom,” Henriksen said. “If you look at it again you can see the sole of a boot kicking Lisbeth out of the van right before they close up shop and leave.”

That happened next. There was no audio, but Dean could imagine the sound of the van’s door slamming and the squeal of burning tires as it drove out of the camera’s frame with his mother inside it.

“There’s a license plate,” Dean said, not even wanting to ask the question. “Did you run it?”

“Fake number,” Henriksen said. “Useless.”

Dean found the toilet and hung his head over it, talking himself through the wave of nausea that had swept over him when the van door had closed. One frame was burned into his mind and he doubted he’d forget it anytime soon—his mother’s face, full of fury and terror as she was being choked by the man who’d taken her, her mouth wide open. Screaming.

“Dean!” Sam pounded on the bathroom door, pulling Dean out of the waking nightmare. “You okay?”

“Out in a minute,” Dean said, thinking that it might be better to just puke and get it over with. But his gut wouldn’t cooperate, leaving him in a nauseous limbo that was not much improved by splashing cold water over his face.

His mother’s makeup bag was sitting on the bathroom counter, and he unzipped it to poke around, looking for something, but he didn’t know what. Not until he pulled out a small disc half-full of blisters containing tiny pills. He checked the brand name and recognized it as a common heat suppressant. The blisters were labeled with days of the week, and the remaining pills showed that Mary had missed two days of suppressant. She would be going into heat any minute.

Grabbing the pills, Dean threw open the bathroom door.

“She’s in heat, or near enough.”

“How do you know?” Henriksen said.

Dean waved the pills in no one’s general direction. “She’s missed two pills. Maybe she forgot to take them with her to try out the violin, but she’s definitely not taken one today.”

Ellen drew him down to sit beside her on the sofa. “Dean, we know she’s in heat. But not just because she missed her meds.”

“What do you mean?”

“Any time an omega is taken by a ring, the first thing they do is induce heat,” Henriksen said. “The drugs are easy to find; they’re actually used in fertility treatments. But for a ring to make any money on an omega, they’ve got to be ready to—”

“Stop it!” Sam said. “Just stop. That can’t be happening.”

Dean rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder, and even at nineteen, he was a strong enough alpha to calm down his beta brother with a touch. Dean saw Henriksen filing the information away for future reference.

Keeping his hand steady, Dean said, “So we have to assume she’s in heat, which means that they may have to call an alpha service.”

“Not to be nosy, but why? One omega can be taken care of—”

“Raped,” Ellen corrected him.

“Handled,” Henriksen said, “by one alpha, and they will probably have more.”

Dean squeezed his brother’s shoulder again to keep him quiet. “My mother has a more intense heat than most other omegas.”

“Oh shit,” Ellen said. “The CGA.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Henriksen looked from Dean to Ellen and back, confused.

“Do we have to tell him?” Sam said. “Would she really want anyone to know? She didn’t even tell us until it was almost too late.”

“She would, if it means we can find her, Sam.” Sam looked like he was about to keep arguing, but Dean gave him the ultimate big brother glare, and after a good ten-second standoff, Sam conceded. “There are two pieces to this,” Dean said to Henriksen. “The first is a genetic disorder that happens when a mating bond is broken. It means she can’t reach orgasm unless a relative close enough to her husband is there to… help. There’s a gland that… okay, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that the ring won’t be able to bring her to climax unless they have someone who’s a close enough genetic match, which is flat-out impossible.”

The other part was almost worse. “Mom used to have heats that lasted four, maybe five days, and there were plenty of times when Dad used a service to help take care of her. Didn’t want to medicate her, didn’t want to see her hurting. He did his best,” Dean said.

Henriksen nodded thoughtfully. “So she’ll want more climaxes, with no way to get them,” he said. “Her body will be worn out in a matter of days, but I think sooner than later they’re going to get sick of an exhausted, heat-sick, mated omega—”

“She isn’t mated,” Ellen said.

Not for lack of trying, Dean thought.

Henriksen’s eyebrows popped up. “Really? The people we’ve spoken to from the auction house seem to think she is.”

“Probably there’s a really strong bond,” Ellen said. “She loves her alpha, I know that much, but—”

“So the alpha’s a close genetic match to her deceased husband.”

“Um. Yes, but they’re not mated. I think she’s just very fond of him. And no, we don’t know who he is or how to find him.”

Sam and Dean were both very still, and very quiet.

“Even so, she’s not going to smell very appetizing if it seems like another alpha’s laid a claim,” Henriksen said. “And there’s always the possibility that they’ll find out who she is and ask for ransom.”

Ellen and Sam both said, “Not a problem.”

“What?” said Dean.

“The auction house has made it clear that they will do whatever’s necessary to get your mother back,” Ellen said.

“Yeah,” Sam said, studying the floor. “The auction house.”

“But even if they decide to let her go or ransom her or whatever, they’re going to have to get a service in by tomorrow afternoon at the latest,” Dean said, a little surprised at how calm he sounded. “She usually ramps up after a day, and then it can take more than one alpha to get her past the next seventy-two hours or so.”

“Is that during a normal heat?” Henriksen asked, and Dean nodded.

“It’ll be worse since she’s just come off suppressants, and since they’re probably forcing the heat,” Ellen said absently, almost as if she was talking to herself. “So how many services do you have in Berlin?”

Henriksen made a call and spoke to the other person in German. The discussion was brief, but apparently worthwhile.

“Fifteen licensed omega comfort houses in and around Berlin, at least five unlicensed ones that we know of,” he said.

“But the ring will want the unlicensed ones, right?” Ellen said.

“I assume so, yes. I’ll put a call out to ABO Affairs, have them put their ears on. Looks like I’m going back to work. Thanks for the information, Dean,” he said, handing out business cards to the three of them. “That might just be the clue we need to find her, if we can wait them out. I’ll call you as soon as we hear anything.”

He jotted down their phone numbers on the back of one of his own cards, closed his laptop, and packed up his things. “Good to be working with you,” he said. “Take care.”

The door closed, and silence fell in the suite. The windows were insulated well enough that no sounds intruded from the street far below them, and the door was thick and solid, blocking the sounds of any passersby. It was eerie.

Ellen must have been thinking the same thing. “I’ve got a white noise app on my phone that really helps in places like this,” she said to no one in particular. “Anyone want the link?”

“I’ve got one, too,” said Sam. “Can’t sleep at school without it, plus my roommate snores like a freight train.”

"_You_ snore like a freight train," Dean said absently.

He went to the closet and opened the doors, inhaling deeply to catch the combined scent of his mother and her laundry soap. She wasn’t planning to stay long, so there were only three or four outfits hanging up; a navy blue linen jacket and trousers, a black dress embroidered with red flowers and a pair of low red heels set neatly underneath it, the same green skirt and silk blouse she’d worn the morning after they had first made love, and… oh, God, she’d brought the turquoise slip dress that she’d been ready to give away the night before. In case it got hot in Berlin, in the springtime. Or maybe because it reminded her of Dean.

He felt sick again, and struggled to hide it.

“You alphas and your noses,” Ellen said, scratching his back gently. “I’m going to bed. I’ll be right next door, so if Henriksen calls for anything, get me over here pronto, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said. “Same for you, all right?”

She nodded and left with her rolling carry-on suitcase, which made Dean a little hopeful, since she’d only have enough in there for three days, tops. He took off his sneakers and dug around in his bag long enough to find his toothbrush and toothpaste. Sadly, there was plenty of room in the bathroom for him and Sam to brush teeth at the same time, so no excuse to shove Sam out of the way, which was by now a time-honored tradition at hotel rooms.

They brushed in separate sinks and Sam beat Dean to the bed, but neither bothered to undress. They laid down on top of the coverlet, on opposite sides of the bed, Dean curling up around his mother’s pillow and Sam halfway sitting so he could play around on his tablet. He was quiet, so Dean didn’t care much about it. A welcome distraction, actually, because all his bastard of a mind wanted to do was think about what was happening to his mother, while he waited here in her room, impotent and useless.

* * *

Dean was startled awake by his phone ringing, which woke up Sam, too. It was Henriksen, saying he was on his way back to the hotel.

“There’s been a development,” he said.

“Is she—”

“Dean?” Sam interrupted, his voice weak and thready. “Is she—”

“No,” Dean said. “Henriksen is coming back. He wouldn’t have called first if she was… yeah.” Dean returned to the call. “I’ll let the front desk know.”

“See you in a few.”

The knock at the door immediately after made Dean suspect that Henriksen had called Ellen first, and Dean maybe should have been irritated that Ellen was higher on the call list, but he was so spooked that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“It’s me,” Ellen called quietly. Dean checked his watch and saw that it was closer to dawn than to midnight. His mother’s heat would have peaked by now, and the kidnappers had to have realized what a disaster they had on their hands. Mary Winchester wasn’t an anonymous omega who could be shackled to a breeding bench with ten others and expected to put out—if she was in a severe heat cycle, the only thing that would bring her temperature down was orgasm after orgasm, and that just wasn’t going to happen without Dean. She’d been on suppressants for much too long anyway, and while she should have undergone a real heat as soon as they realized that Dean could bring her to climax, there hadn’t been five days free between the two of them since March. And there was always Sam to consider.

He opened the door and let Ellen in. She hugged him so hard his ribs wanted to crack, and then gave Sam the same treatment.

“It’s a ransom note,” she said. “A video, anyway, and Henriksen’s bringing it over.”

“Yeah, he called me. She’s gonna be okay, Sammy.” Sam had grabbed his mother’s pillow from Dean’s side of the bed and was still there, the pillow squashed against his chest. That was serious. It meant that Sam was trying to scent her even though his beta nose wouldn’t cooperate.

“Okay, c’mere squirt,” Dean said, and yanked him over to sit on his lap. He held his brother’s nose against his neck, but didn’t make him let go of the pillow. Sam heaved a deep breath and then sneezed three times, coating Dean’s chest and neck with a fine spray of mucus. “Aw, dude, that’s disgusting.”

“I know,” Sam said with a grin. “Can’t help it, you smell nasty.”

“Gotta love that bad-ass alpha reek,” said Dean. His dad used to say that after his ruts ended, and when his mother emerged from their bedroom walking a little stiffly, she always pushed him into the shower to do something immediately about that “bad-ass alpha reek.” “Besides, it worked. Don’t ya just feel so much better?”

Henriksen’s knock came at the door and Ellen let him in, giving the boys no more time to bicker.

“She told you?” he asked, setting up his laptop on the coffee table.

“That it was a demand for ransom. That’s all.”

“All right. Well, she’s alive, and that’s better than we’d—anyway, it’ll take a second to load.” Dean took a good look at Henriksen and wondered how long it had been since the man had slept. His skin was almost ashen and his eyes were sunk into dark hollows, but his voice was still strong and his hands were steady. In for the long haul. “Here we go.”

When Henriksen clicked the “play” icon, the screen went dark, then snowy white, with a second or two of white noise to fill in before a face appeared, although it barely rated the name. Ellen and Sam made identical sounds of revulsion and scooted back from the computer, and Dean didn’t blame them. The face was mottled gray and green, its yellow, rheumy eyes malformed and lopsided, and black gashes seemed to have been gouged into its skin, like scarification gone horribly wrong. It was a hell of a mask.

“Funny that I don’t know who I’m speaking to,” the face said, “but it’s not important as long as you care at all about the fate of Mary Winchester. Of course all humans have the same fate, but it’s what happens along the way that makes it interesting. So I have Mary Winchester, and I am a stop on her journey to… wherever. Or I am her final destination.” The voice wasn’t muffled, like it should have been—it was nasal and almost painful to listen to, like nails down a chalkboard. The words were perfectly clear and ripe with malice.

“He did not just say that,” Dean muttered.

“Shut up, Dean,” said Sam.

“We had hoped to bring lovely Mary into our fold by now, but she’s been quite a problem. You see, despite every measure we’ve taken, she refuses to cooperate. Won’t get with the program. Won’t. Fucking. Come. And our clients don’t like that. Half the fun of violating an omega in heat is making them come against their will, over and over… but the Winchester bitch just won’t work with us, no matter how hard we try—and we do try, very hard. Cocks, knots, even a fist or two. Threw two of my alphas into rut, even. Nothing works, but she still begs for it. Can’t get enough. They call her a _schwann schlampe_. German for ‘cock slut.’ Crude, but accurate.”

Whoever was behind that macabre mask was going to die by Winchester hands.

“It’s a shame. She might literally burn herself up. She’s getting plenty of alpha seed, believe me, but her body doesn’t seem to know what to do with it if her pretty cunt won’t gulp it down properly. Her fever is still high, she won’t stop crying, and frankly she’s stinking up the place.

“At first I’d resigned myself to the waste of time and resources, but then one of my associates recognized her, and we realized that there’s another way to recoup our losses. I'll admit, she's a fine musician, and no one wants to see her ruined—more than she is already—but you’ll have to cooperate more than she has to get her back. In the amount of 2.5 million dollars.

“We won't start breaking fingers for another five hours. That’s how long you’ve got to decide if Mary Winchester is worth as much as an old violin. We'll send another love note to give you the account number for the deposit.

“Oh, and for now, she'll sing for you. She wouldn’t get herself off like a good little bitch, but she screamed all night long for her alpha. See?” The camera pulled back to show Mary in the corner, naked, curled in a ball on the stained cot, her hair plastered like seaweed on her face and shoulders. Weeping. "Poor thing’s worn herself out. Go ahead, Mary. Tell me what you need."

The camera zoomed in for a close-up of her face. Sweat was pouring off of her, drenching her face and hair, and she was panting heavily. “Alpha,” she whispered. "Please. Alpha. Need you. Please...”

Even incoherent, there was only one person she could be talking to.

The video ended.

“So we have proof of life,” Henriksen said. “And the video gave us some clues as to where they might be keeping her, narrowing down the locations of the alpha services they could be using.”

“But they know she can’t climax, so eventually they’ll stop trying,” said Dean.

“Will that just be uncomfortable, or could it kill her?” Henriksen asked. “I don’t know her medical history, so—”

Sam burst into tears.

“Oh, shit, thanks a lot, boys,” Ellen said, and pulled Sam into her arms. Dean sat next to them on the sofa and held them both while Sam wept uncontrollably. It was all he could to do keep himself from cracking the laptop over Henriksen’s head, but he knew that keeping his shit together now was maybe the most important thing he’d ever done.

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “But it’s still worth a shot to keep ears on the ground until we figure out how to get the ransom money together. Is that the best way to do this?” he said to Henriksen.

“In this case, I’d say yes, and if anyone in the German State Department says we’re making deals with terrorists, they can just come visit the American Embassy and I’ll be happy to kick their asses.”

“Ellen, how do we liquidate that much cash quickly?”

“We don’t,” Ellen said. “The auction house does. Victor, what’s the countdown? When did the video come in?”

“About an hour ago,” he said.

Sam wiggled out of Ellen’s grasp. “I feel gross. I’m changing clothes.” He headed to the bedroom and closed the door. Dean heard the lock turn, and wished he could find a way to keep everyone from crying any more. Including his mother. And Ellen, whose face was as blotchy and swollen as Sam’s.

“So four hours,” Ellen said, scrolling down to a recent call and dialing it back. “Otto,” she barked. “Wake your ass up. There’s a ransom note.” Ellen paced around the suite as she waited for her contact to get a little closer to full consciousness. “There’s the million-dollar question. Two-point-five… It’s more than reasonable, the woman’s a national fucking treasure... Did you really just say that? Okay then she’s a global treasure, and you should pay it because she was doing work for your company, in Germany, when she was abducted and forced into heat and raped repeatedly and because you said you would!... Yes. That’s what I’m saying. Three hours. Now who the fuck do you have to get out of bed to make this happen?”

“His accent wasn’t German,” Dean said quietly to Henriksen, not wanting to interrupt Ellen’s conversation.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“And the douchebag loves to hear himself talk.”

“Like many villains.”

“What did you see in the video that gave you clues to their location? It just looked like a normal crappy basement to me.”

“Can’t be a hundred percent, but when we get your mother back we’ll be doing forensics on her clothes, DNA samples—”

“A rape kit.”

“Considerably more than that, but yes.”

“What about the mask?” Dean said.

“You’re not a fool, son, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m not your son.”

“Apologies, Alpha. You’re about my boy’s age,” Henriksen said, nodding in apology.

“So, the mask. It looked a little too real. Did anyone do an image search?”

“Yes, and we found nothing online. Not a single thing. No mass-produced masks, no film special effects, no Halloween costumes.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’re guessing it might have been made by an independent artist specifically for this person—more of a prosthesis than a mask.”

“What kind of a sick bastard… Never mind.”

“No, motive is an important question,” said Henriksen.

“Like profiling?”

“Exactly like profiling.”

Dean quieted enough to listen to Ellen’s conversation—or rather, blowup—with her contact at the auction house.

“Then take it out of your own goddamn bank account!... That’s not acceptable, Otto. Mary Winchester is family to me, and you know better than to fuck with family… Call me back in half an hour or I will have your systems hacked and all your reserves gone by sunrise. Got it?”

“Damn,” Henriksen said, an eyebrow raised in appreciation. His phone rang, and he left the suite to take the call outside.

As the door closed, Sam emerged from the bedroom, his face a little pale.

“You okay, Sammy?”

“No. Yes. I… I have the money,” he said. “To get Mom. I just need the account number and it’ll be transferred in maybe three minutes.”

“You… you what?”

Sensing trouble, Ellen joined them and repeated Dean’s question.

“Yeah. Friends of the family. Kinda loaded. Have immediate access to funds. 2.5 is like a trip to Biggerson’s.” Sam was starting another growth spurt, but at the moment he looked about ten years old.

“Biggerson’s, Waffle House, whatever, you gonna name some real people names here or do I start pulling teeth?” Dean said.

“Can’t. They want to stay anonymous. For now.”

“For now.”

“Yeah.”

Ellen started pacing again. “Sam, how much do you trust these friends of the family?”

“Totally. Two hundred percent.”

“Ever met them?” Ellen was firm, but she seemed a lot less edgy than Dean felt.

“Not in person.”

“Are these the people you’ve been messaging for the last two days?” Dean asked.

“Longer than that, but yeah.”

“I want a name, Sam!”

Sam blew out a long breath and finally said, “Claire. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ellen said, throwing up her hands. “That’s all you know, or all you can tell us?”

“That’s all I can say.”

Another knock on the door, and Ellen opened it for Henriksen, who came in with more news.

“There’s been movement from one of the omega houses. An alpha’s been sent for a PRS—priority relief service—at a Moabit address.”

“Lovely,” Ellen said. When Dean shot her an inquiring stare, she said, “A prison for high-profile criminals and little to no security. If you wanted to host an omega rape party, that would be a good neighborhood to set up shop. Is the LKA going to move?”

Sam said, “But I have the money! Shouldn’t we just wait until they give us the deposit number and do what they tell us to do?”

“We can’t trust strangers, Sam,” Dean said.

“The police are strangers, too!”

Henriksen interrupted them. “If they called in an alpha, it means your mom’s in pretty bad shape. We can wait for them to give us the number, or we can extract her.”

“You mean try,” Dean said.

“That’s a given,” Henriksen said. “There’s risk either way. But generally the abductors will want to disappear rather than kill the omega and risk a higher sentence if they’re caught. There’s a chance we’ll be able to capture some of them and—”

“Interrogate,” Ellen put in. “We might be able to help take down the ring.”

“Who decides?” Dean said.

“Your wishes are taken into account,” Henriksen said.

“That doesn’t mean we decide,” said Sam, and Dean nodded in agreement.

“Don’t bullshit us, Victor,” Ellen said. “Who makes the call here?”

“Ultimately it’s the Chief of Police.” He checked his phone and scanned the messages that had come in while they were talking. “If you want input, you need to give it now.”

“Tell them to go,” Dean said, not at all embarrassed by the wobble in his voice. “She’d want us to come get her.”

“Dean!”

“Sam, we can’t wait around for a fucking fairy tale and if you won’t tell me who the hell Claire is and why I should trust her with my m—mother, then we have to make the decision based on what we know right now.”

“He’s right, Sam,” said Ellen, and tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “All of you. We could get her back in four hours with minimal risk—”

“According to the guy with the demon face. Right. You’re gonna believe him? And honestly, Mom may not have four hours, or even one. Do you understand? Sometimes you can’t just throw a ton of money at something and make it go away,” he said, remembering his mother on her bed back home, naked and weeping because she couldn’t be fixed without being completely broken first. “Sometimes you have to take the risk.”

Sam’s face was wet with tears again—God, Dean owed the kid a truckload of moose tracks ice cream after this—but after what felt like an hour, he nodded.

Henriksen had waited patiently for them to get their shit together, but once Sam bought into the plan, he took action and tapped out a text on his way out the door. He glanced behind at the three of them and said, “Well? Are you coming or not?”

None of them had bothered to get undressed for bed, so they were in his sedan and on their way to the Moabit station in five minutes flat.


	7. Moabit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-con warning. Stay safe.

_Everything hurts in one way or another. Her head aches like the first hangover of creation, her thighs scream like someone is trying to twist her legs off at the joint with their bare hands, and her skin feels like it’s crawling with the tiny red fire ants infesting her back yard, and no amount of wriggling against anything stops the burning._

_But none of that compares to the horrific, relentless cramps that rip through her belly one after another, tearing her apart from the inside out, making the contractions she’d felt giving birth seem mild in comparison. She wonders sometimes if she’s been sliced open and is losing organs through her belly. She’s never been gutshot, but it has to feel a lot like this._

_Every now and again, the man in the demon mask, the one with the godawful dark mineral stench all over him, calls on the alpha in the front room and makes him fuck her. It’s supposed to help—he says it will—but nothing does, even when the alpha comes inside her. They make her take pills, drink water, suck on fruit, but she can’t keep anything down, and vomiting makes the pain so much worse. Crying does, too, but she can’t stop that. The tears just go on, worse than the days after John died, worse than any kind of sorrow in her life, even the dread of becoming null from the surgery to fix her stupid uncooperative body, until her real alpha had saved her from it._

_She wants to hear his name out loud, she knows it will help, a little, but she won’t say it, won’t give them that ammunition. She even tries to block out his face, those lovely green and gold eyes, the full, rose-colored lips and perfect cheekbones, the sweet collection of freckles he’s gathered over nineteen years. Her alpha. Her son. By now he has to know she’s gone, has to be out of his mind trying to find her, and Sam, poor Sam, oh, her boys, that’s the worst of it, thinking they’re somewhere scared of losing her like they lost John._

_Another cramp tears through her, the pain incandescent, blinding, like looking into the sun when it’s staring back, lighting up her entire body. Someone puts a strip of fabric in her mouth that tastes like sour sweat and old vomit, has to be her own, a shirt that’s been ripped apart to use as a gag._

_A new smell wafts by, one that breaks through her own foulness, an alpha in rut, or near enough that it hardly matters. It won’t work, she knows that, not without her alpha, but still she’s willing to try anything and says so through the gag._

_The alpha pulls her up from the stinking cot where she’s been since they brought her here, and pushes her face-down onto a flimsy table. He ties her with impersonal skill, saying something in German that makes the rest of the group laugh. She says something else through the gag—it might be thank you—and the alpha goes to work, checking her slick with two rough fingers, then shoving his cock inside her and thrusting like a machine, every pounding movement heightening the agony of her unslaked heat. The alpha stops, asks a question of the man in the demon mask, and then grunts and continues, until the rhythm of the thrust becomes irregular and the knot on the alpha’s cock begins to grow. The alpha says something else, _“Nein, nein,”_ and before the knot can grow any bigger, his come shoots inside her, hard enough that she feels it hitting the walls of her channel._

_Then it’s the Fourth of July, and the room explodes into bursts of dazzling golden light, ear-splitting cracks of nearby gunfire, and the stench of acrid, burning chemicals sucking breathable air out of the room._

_It’s the apocalypse, and it is a blessing._

* * *

Hospitals have their own personalities. Dean knew this because he and Sam had managed to damage themselves in one way or another almost everywhere Mary took them, including overseas. This hospital reminded him of his fourth-grade English teacher, who was scary strict about deadlines and the Oxford comma, but still kept boo-boo bunnies and popsicles in her freezer. Dean had liked her, as he liked this hospital, which happened to be the most important place on the planet at the moment.

They had brought Mary directly here after the bust in Moabit. Henriksen had driven them all from the police station, and now they sat (Sam), stood (Dean), or paced (Ellen) in the ER waiting area, hoping to get any scraps of information they could from the hospital staff.

The attending physician came to meet them after an hour. Dr. Vogel was a beta of medium height, with a perfectly smooth brown bob that reached exactly to her chin and Dean was sure she got it trimmed every six weeks to the minute. She even came with glasses and a white coat, but Dean didn’t find the get-up comforting, mostly because Dr. Vogel wasn’t telling him what he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear that his mother was fine, out of danger. But Dr. Vogel had a poor excuse for a bedside manner, and didn’t pull punches.

“We’re stabilizing her and conducting the preliminary forensic sampling,” she told them in a light German accent. “The main threats are dehydration and her heat. She is sedated now, but the faster we can get her alpha here, the better. We have an Omega Care Unit here, which is equipped for—”

“Excuse me, Doctor.” Ellen interrupted. “You should know that my client has CGA. Are you familiar with the disorder?”

That stopped the doctor cold, but she recovered quickly. “Somewhat. I’ve never treated it, but I have a colleague with some experience in the area. Does she have an alpha, or has she had the procedure?”

“No procedure,” Dean said.

“No alpha,” Sam said.

“That’s not entirely true,” said Ellen. “But we don’t know who he is. She’s never said.”

The doctor sighed. “So an alpha service is not feasible. _ Verdammt.” _

“No,” Dean said, probably a little louder than he should have.

She tilted her head and gave Dean a curious stare. “I believe I am missing some critical information about this case. Would you please come with me?”

Her office was cramped but private, and it worked fine for their purpose. Dean spoke, for the most part, and Dr. Vogel took illegible notes in German on a tablet that Sam coveted shamelessly, until they had caught her up.

Dean was relieved to see the doctor’s bedside manner finally kick in.

“I am sorry that you are all suffering through this,” she said, after a long pause. “It seems there are many issues to address in order to make Mary comfortable and stable enough to go home. Is going home the ultimate goal or does she have additional work in Berlin or Europe?”

“Fuck no,” Dean said. “We’re going home and I’m never letting her out of my sight again.”

The doctor gave him a brief smile. “She has a good family. That will help her recover. But you say she has not told you the name of her alpha?”

“No,” Ellen said. “And they’re not mated, anyway, so I’m not sure that would—”

“Yes, but if she has CGA, she must be at least having sex with an alpha close to her husband’s bloodline. The mating, the bonding, those have nothing to do with the orgasm and climax required to end her heat.”

All three squirmed in their seats, uncomfortable for various reasons.

“Americans,” the doctor said. “Always so fussy about sex, and yet so obsessed with it. All right. Unless we can find the alpha,” and Dean could have sworn she shot him a rather irritated glance, “we will have to administer rather severe medications to stop the heat, since it was most likely induced by high doses of fertility drugs. There are side effects that you should consider, though, since you will be making medical decisions for her until she is mentally competent. That is, after the heat.”

“What side effects?” Ellen asked.

“Are there any other options?” Dean looked the doctor straight in the eye, knowing she would take the hint.

“Yes. She could have the assistance of another family member closely related to her deceased husband. A son, perhaps, or even an alpha daughter, if one is available. But I understand that most Americans would be too… what’s the word…”

“Squeamish,” Dean said, his alpha roaring inside him. Finally, finally there was something he could do.

“Oh, dear God,” said Ellen. “Drugs it is.”

The doctor raised a brow at Dean. “Mr. Winchester, according to your mother’s records, you hold authority over her medical care when she is incapable of making decisions for—”

“I’ll do it,” he said.

Ellen sputtered and Sam said, “Blech.”

“Very well,” said the doctor, checking the tablet. “We will have her prepared and moved to the OCU—the Omega Care Unit,” the doctor clarified. “The name is much longer in German; this works just as well. We will take her off the sedative since it interferes with the sexual response. Provided we find no major injuries during the rest of the examination, she will be ready in about two hours, maybe less. Now, Mr. Winchester, about the act itself—”

“I’ll wait outside,” Sam said and Ellen beat him to the door, mumbling unhappily. Dean closed the door behind them.

“Have you done this with her before?” the doctor asked.

“Yes.”

“And brought her to orgasm successfully?”

Dean resisted the urge to puff up. “Yes.”

“Good boy. Now here is what we know so far, although we have not been able to check properly for broken bones without x-rays, nor soft tissue damage without ultrasounds. We have to end the heat first, and you are our best hope of that. But she has been treated horribly and is very sore. You should know what injuries she has before engaging in intercourse with her.”

“Tell me.”

“As best we can tell, she has a dislocated shoulder, bruised or maybe fractured ribs, and contusions around the eye which may be due to a fractured cheekbone or eye socket. Her knees and elbows are severely abraded, and there are marks around her wrists and ankles indicating that restraints were used. She is not pregnant, and she will be receiving antibiotics until we get the STI test results back. You should use condoms during intercourse, at least until the moments before ejaculation, to minimize the chance of infection.”

“No. She needs the skin-to-skin contact.”

“Mr. Winchester, you are aware that some STIs are incurable? And could affect your fertility?”

“Yeah, I took that class in high school. Still going bare, doc.”

“Would she want you to take such a risk?”

“Let’s just not tell her.”

Dr. Vogel sighed. “Very well. We will also need your permission to administer compatible birth control so that her cervix draws in your ejaculate but does not—”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know what birth control does.”

She gave him a hard glare which softened when he winked at her. “The OCU will have everything you need for mating, including a specific kind of lubricant with light anesthetic properties. I suggest using it, because there was some damage to the vaginal and anal tissues and we do not want the discomfort to cancel out the pleasure. Omegas heal quickly, but not that quickly, I’m afraid.”

“Um. Did you say mating?”

“This is the standard method for ending a heat of this kind, yes.”

“She doesn’t want me to. Bite her, that is.”

The doctor sat back in her chair, considering. “Because of the taboo, I assume?”

“And the age difference.”

She nodded. “Well, if her wishes are clear on this subject, no ethical physician will tell you to go against them. Do your best, young man, and perhaps you can end the heat without a bite.” The tablet made a soft bell-like sound, and the doctor checked it again. “And the team has found a wound on her left buttock that appears to be a bullet graze. So you will have to be especially gentle with her.”

Dean nodded, barely able to speak past the fury trying to claw its way out of his throat. To his surprise, the doctor leaned forward and put a gentle hand on his arm. Her fingers were cool and soothing, the touch of a classic beta, and he was grateful for them.

“You are a good boy, a good son, and a perfect alpha for your mother. She could be in no better hands.” The doctor stood and marched out to rejoin Ellen and Sam, who were waiting across the hall, very definitely not listening. “Now,” she said, resuming her crisp doctorly tone, “we will make the arrangements. I will coordinate with my staff and the OCU. I suggest you all go to the café on level 1 and find some breakfast, as you appear to be a little…”

“Shaky,” supplied Ellen. “Yeah.”

“I will text you in approximately two hours, when your mother is being moved to the ninth floor. You are all welcome to greet her briefly provided you follow scent blocking protocol while in the unit. And Mr. Winchester—eat. You will need your strength. Doctor’s orders.” She gave him an almost imperceptible smile, nodded to the three of them and headed down the hallway at a rapid clip, the sound of her low heels ringing off the walls as she walked.

“Did she say breakfast?” Sam said. “It’s morning?”

“Apparently so,” Ellen said, nodding to the tall windows looking over the city, where the sun was blooming over the skyline and its incongruous TV tower. “I’m about to eat someone’s arm off, boys, and you two are looking pretty tasty. Level 1, did she say?”

“I’ll beat you to the elevator,” Sam said, and ran.

Dean watched Sam and Ellen play tag around the elevator banks and was hit by a wave of fatigue so powerful that it almost knocked him to the floor. They had his mother back alive, and in decent enough shape to let him take care of her. His alpha was trembling from anticipation, and his cock was already starting to swell in his pants. At the same time, he could hardly breathe from thinking of what the abductors had done to her, and how desperately he wanted to make someone pay for it ten times over.

Ellen called him from the elevators, and he managed to turn in the right direction.

Two hours. Yes. And food. The doctor was right; he had to tend to his own physical needs if he was going to tend to his mother’s. Surely he would feel a little more grounded after a few plates of carbohydrates. Did they have pancakes in Germany? And what the hell was a schnitzel, anyway?


	8. The Ninth Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consequences of the non-con, still not a good place to be if you're concerned.

Dean ate with Sam and Ellen (schnitzel wasn’t the German version of pie that he hoped it would be, but as a source of protein, it wasn’t bad), napped in the nearest cushioned chair he could find, and peeled his eyes open two hours later, when Dr. Vogel texted Dean as promised.

_Doc: Ninth floor. She's on her way. Sedatives are wearing off. When will you be here?_

_Dean: Five minutes._

"Oh, thank God," Ellen said, when he showed her the text message.

Never in his life had an elevator taken so fucking long to show up, and once they reached the ninth floor, they ran into a rack of disposable scent blockers that barred the entrance to the OCU. Visitors couldn't get past it without reading the sign clearly lettered in four languages, German, English, French, and Arabic: _All personnel must wear designation I.D. and scent blockers. Exceptions must be formally authorized. Consult staff for details._

Dr. Vogel got their attention and herded them to the nearest reception desk, taking several lanyards from the nurse on duty. Sam and Ellen got badges with the beta symbol in green, and a collection of blockers to choose from, the light gel meant to go on pulse and scent points to neutralize personal fragrances. Dean's badge had a red alpha symbol, and when he reached for a blocker, Dr. Vogel pushed his hand away.

"Not you," she said. "Your omega will need to know you by scent as well as by sight."

"She will," Sam said. "He's as stinky as he's ever been."

"That is for the best."

The elevators on the other side of the unit chimed softly, and the doors opened, hitting Dean with a wall of scent that nearly shut his brain down—omega in heat. His omega.

They had her on a gurney, and wheeled her straight into a room, Dr. Vogel following. After a minute or so, Dr. Vogel gestured to them to come in.

Dean stayed outside, letting Sam and Ellen have some time with his mother. He would have all the time he needed, and he was sure that once he was in that room his cock, already hard as fucking diamond from her heat scent, would be running the show. He waited, listening to them talk, shocked at how hoarse his mother's voice was and barely able to think about what happened to make it that way.

Sam poked his head out and gestured to Dean. "Come on, dude. She's asking for you."

Dr. Vogel wasn't kidding about the black eye. Dean had seen black eyes before, mostly from fights in high school, but he'd never seen anything like this one. It was deep blue and circled her eye and nose, reaching almost to her upper lip. The skin was taut and shiny, and he hoped they would leave him with an ice pack to put on her every hour or so when they weren't otherwise occupied.

"Alpha!" his mother whispered, because she couldn't speak otherwise. "Oh, God, Alpha, where have you been?"

"Hello, Omega," he said, bending to kiss her on her undamaged cheek. Her smell was off, somehow, and he knew why, but it was still so sweet and beautiful that he was ready to lick every bit of it off her body, inch by inch. "I'm here. Not going anywhere."

The staff had arranged his mother on a queen-sized bed, surrounded by a mess of pillows to keep her in a sitting position. One arm was in a sling, but the other was perfectly functional, and she used it to yank him towards her. She kissed him, then winced as a cut on her lip opened up.

Dean stroked her hair gently and pressed his forehead to hers.

"It hurts, Alpha," she said softly. "Please. I need you."

"Of course. I just have to finish up with the doc. Don't go anywhere, okay? I need you, too."

A soft gasp escaped Ellen, and Dean glanced over at her to see her face twisted from holding back tears, and a revelation in her eyes.

"You're the alpha," she said. "Holy fuck, Dean—"

Sam squeezed her arm and hauled her out of the room. "I'll explain," he said to Dean. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you, Sam!" his mother croaked.

Dr. Vogel walked Dean through the amenities. Refrigerator for water, juice, and frozen fruit bars, crackers and power bars in the cabinet. Three drawers full of toys—not as extensive as Mary's collection, but then he doubted he would need them—a TV with hundreds of channels, including music stations, dimmable lights, a full shower and bath attached. Like a very clean, sterile hotel room.

That was about to change.

"We've taken her off the I.V. fluids for now so make sure she drinks, you understand?" Dr. Vogel said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And the nurses will deliver meals and broad-spectrum antibiotics for both of you starting in," she checked her watch, "about three hours. The nurse will make sure she takes them, and her pain management medication, and you make sure she keeps them down."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm gonna need some ice packs for the swelling on her face, the shoulder, and maybe..." He coughed.

"Of course. I'll bring them back myself. We will always knock before we come in, but we prefer that you leave the door unlocked in case of emergency. Is that acceptable?"

"Yeah," he said, hoping Vogel would leave sooner than later because he was vibrating out of his skin, and his cock ached so badly he thought he might throw her through a wall if she didn't get the fuck out of his way.

"I'll be back shortly," the doctor said, and finally left, closing the door behind her.

"Well. Hope they got a good ventilation system here, Mom. They're gonna need it."

Mary didn't reply, and he thought for a moment that she'd gone to sleep. But the rich honey smell of her heat was boosted by a rush of tartness that he would know anywhere.

He sat on the bed beside her. "Need me, Mom?"

She nodded, tears shining in her eyes. "Don't make me beg, Dean. Just—"

"Yeah, let's not wait on the good doctor." He kissed her ever so gently, starting from the corner of her lip without the cut, moving down her neck, quietly noting the dark pink abrasion circling her throat like a choker, to the collar of her hospital pajamas, where he unsnapped them, taking his time so he didn't startle her. He kissed down her chest, between her breasts, lightly tracing them with his fingertips then suckling on each nipple. She was quiet, but he didn't expect her to be vocal this time; this was a different world, and not a good one. But he could make it good enough to help her.

He slid the elastic waistband of her bottoms down and checked the bullet graze on her buttocks before going further. The bandage was about the size of his palm, so unless it was deep, and as long as he avoided it, it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Vogel would have told him otherwise. He pulled the pants off the rest of the way in one smooth movement and was confronted by a dozen or more black finger-shaped bruises on her thighs and calves, charting a map of abuse that had taken almost no time to inflict.

"My beautiful omega," he said, and laid his head on her lower belly, wanting so desperately to fuck her hard and take her back from the man in the demon mask, knowing that he had no business treating her that way.

"Please," she said. "Get on with it, Dean. You don't have to court me."

So she was that coherent, at least.

"I always have to court you, Mom. I'm your alpha. It's my job."

"This is different."

He had no answer for that. "Mom, I need to check you out for just a minute, okay? I don't want you to hurt anymore."

"Okay."

He spread her legs, remembering the last time in her bed at home, when he had buried his face so deep between her legs he thought he might suffocate. That wasn't going to happen now. Now that tender flesh was red and inflamed; he couldn't imagine fucking into her like that, but was going to have to. He was beginning to understand why Dr. Vogel had recommended the analgesic gel—but if it numbed her, it might numb him, and he'd lose his erection. So, no to the gel.

All right. She'd told him a dozen times at least—just try it, and see what happens. You can always do something else.

He stripped, a little self-conscious about doing this in a hospital, but his cock didn't give a shit, obviously; it was as hard as it had ever been for her. Harder, actually, because the staff had done a great job cleaning her up, but there was still enough scent left over from other people—other alphas. This was becoming as much about possession as ending her heat; his dick knew that the only way to reclaim this omega was to make her come and fuck her senseless.

He slid his hands under her hips to open her up, taking care to avoid the bandage, and licked her slowly and lightly from taint to clit. She moaned, her voice no more than a whisper, and he did it again, taking an extra second to circle her clit with his tongue on the way. Each touch, each taste brought her back to him; he could never erase what they had done to her, but he could make sure she came out the other side. He kissed her clitoris, suckled it gently, heard himself moan against her, felt her hips buck, tasted the sweet, tangy burst of her slick, and realized that if he didn't get inside her he was going to come all over himself without even fucking her and how goddamned stupid would that be?

He laid his hand on the swell of her lower belly and slipped his thumb back down over her clit, his other hand guiding the tip of his cock around her inner lips, smearing drops of pre-come on her gently, gently, for no reason he could think of other than he wanted to bathe her in his come and this was a good start.

She was so wet that he missed twice before finding her entrance, and he hated to do it, wanted it desperately, and finally penetrated her, holding back until she rasped, "Do it, Dean, for the love of God, just—"

He pushed, balls-deep in one smooth stroke, her pained hiss almost stopping him. But she tilted her hips to seat him deeper and he took that as encouragement, moving wavelike inside her silky, slippery heat. She tightened around him, deliberately, and his cock grew harder, if such a thing was possible. It had to have stung, and he realized that the best thing he could do for her now was to get it over with and come.

"Do you need my knot?"

She nodded, and he swore at that, praying that the pain would be worth it. He gritted his teeth and felt once again a violent need to find the people who had hurt her and fuck them all with goddamned baseball bats.

Which was a damned useless sentiment to be having right now.

"All right. Stop me if it's too bad." He rocked into her again, thinking of tides on the St. Augustine beach, the boat floating on the water when they'd gone out only a few weeks ago, the gliding pelicans feeding at sunset, trying to give her a knot that would be anything but aggressive.

She circled her uninjured arm around his neck and drew him down, wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles. When he hesitated again, she sobbed against him, but not from appreciation.

"Dean, you couldn’t possibly hurt me more than I am already. If you're going to do this—"

He interrupted her by thrusting harder than he had so far, and heard her say "Yes!" into his ear, felt her ankles grab his ass and pull him in deeper.

"Fuck," he growled as he pounded into her, giving it to her just the way she wanted, hard and merciless, feeling her muscles squeeze again around him so hard that for a moment he could hardly move. "Let go," he said. "If you want this, then let go." She eased up on the pressure but didn't relax completely, still giving him enough friction to make him absolutely insane with stimulation.

He curled his body over hers, trying to shield her from the last forty-eight hours, and scented her hair with every thrust, hunting for the stink of other alphas, finding entirely too much of it. The pure alpha rage it triggered was enough to make his knot swell in a matter of seconds, until it began to strain the omega’s capacity to open for him. Part of him, the civilized part, considered stopping to give her time to expand. The alpha wanted none of that. The alpha wanted her heat, her cunt, wanted to touch the deepest parts of her, and she'd said she wanted it, said she could take it.

He pounded into her once, twice, and a third time before his knot was too big to pull out and his only option was to grind deep inside her, right up against the passage to her womb, where his come would be drawn in if he pushed the right buttons. Damn right he knew where the button was.

He settled his thumb on it and circled her clitoris with brutal precision. He knew what she liked; no direct contact, she was too sensitive for that, only fingering around the clit, with special attention to a particular spot at the very top. She knew he wasn't going to quit on her.

"I'm gonna come," he whispered in her ear. "I'm not gonna bite you, I promise, but I have to taste you. Give me that."

She nodded and he found himself knotted deeply inside her, staring down and seeing past the bruises, seeing only her trusting blue eyes, her pupils blown almost black with the craving for the orgasm just out of reach. He bent down and sealed his lips over the scar his father had made, sucking hard enough to taste blood, and that was all he needed, her hot, honey-sweet blood on his tongue. He came so hard he saw lights around him like the phytoplankton they had at the beach in the summertime, and only his second orgasm brought him back to the world, where he was still coming, and still had his thumb on his mother's clitoris. He sped up his movement, but didn't have to work hard; the pulsing of his cock as he flooded her with his come had already brought her to the edge, and when she came, her hoarse cry and the hot shiver of her muscles around him drew another load of come from him, which triggered another convulsion of ecstasy from her.

They lay knotted together for a long time, passing their pleasure back and forth, leaving an unforgiving world to spin on without them.

* * *

Mary woke in a strange place, surrounded by mostly unfamiliar smells, feeling a strange sense of displacement, as though she'd managed to escape to a different planet while she slept. But this was a comfortable planet, with dim lights, a perfectly firm bed, cool pillows, and sheets soft enough to soothe even the tender skin of an omega in heat, which she was, last she could remember. There were blanks in her memory, which, given what she did recall of the last few days might be a good thing.

But it would be nice to know where she was. And what was coming at her next.

She was already sitting halfway up on the bed, so a careful dismount wasn't as hard as it could have been, but when her feet hit the ground, her knees buckled and her bare feet slid out from under her. She hit the side of the bed on the way down and everything above her waist caught fire, like one single nerve bundle had been deliberately stomped on.

"Christ!" she hissed.

The patter of bare feet on tile indicated the presence of another human being who might be willing to help her back up, and she was never in her life so grateful to see her oldest son hurrying in from another room.

"Hey, hey, let me help. Come on, there's no crying in baseball." He started to wrap his arms under hers to lift her but the noise she made clearly meant that another approach was required. "All right, screw it. This'll hurt like a bitch, but we'll have you up in a jiffy. Lean against me." She did, and he swept her off her feet, depositing her back on the bed in less time than it took her to swear again at the pain.

"Thank you," she said, shocked at the roughness of her voice. "But if that's a bathroom over there, I really need to get to it."

"Of course. I'm gonna make a shitty CNA at this rate. Let's try this again." He picked her up and carried her into the bathroom, which was fully equipped with pull bars, safety rails, and a handicap toilet. "Can you stand?"

"Let's find out," she said. He set her down so gently that she barely felt her feet touch the floor, and held her hands while she decided whether her traitorous legs would hold her up this time. It seemed they would. "Okay. I've got this. Can I call you when I'm done?"

"I can stay."

"No—I mean, really, I can do this, I was just taken off guard by..."

"Yeah, I know you couldn't have expected it. And your meds are wearing off by now, so—"

"Dean."

"Okay," he said, and ducked into the other room to give her some privacy.

She managed it, although it was tricky with one arm being in a sling, and called him back after to help her wash her hands.

There was a mirror above the sink, and the sight of her own face, mottled and bruised as it was, was a hell of a shock.

"Dear God," she said. "They really did a number on me, didn't they?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his hands floating over her shoulders, barely touching. "Seems like you fought back a little."

She nodded. "I tried. Fat lot of good it did."

"It wasn't exactly a fair fight."

"I know," she said, and she did. She remembered the deep sting of two injections made in the moments after she'd kicked Lisbeth out of the van, and now that she was a little more coherent, she thought they had to have been a sedative and something else to induce heat. There was no way she could have escaped them unless she'd gotten away before those doors closed.

"Hey, what... what are you doing here?"

"Is that question for real?"

"Yes," she said, "and don't be a smart-ass today, okay?"

"Might as well tell me not to breathe, Mom. Ellen called, told me what was happening, and I snatched up Sam and got us on a plane to Berlin, if you can believe it."

"Oh, I believe it. Sam's here?"

"Ellen, too."

At this, Mary's eyes started to water and her breath grew harsh and uneven. "Damn it. I can't cry, it hurts too bad."

He kissed the top of her head. "Let's do something else, then. How about some pain pills and then I get some food in you and we figure out how to work Netflix in German. They have a pretty decent entertainment center in the Heat Suite."

"The what?"

"They call it the Omega Care Unit. Basically where they keep omegas to get them to the other side. Of heat, I mean. It's pretty swank. Come check it out."

“Okay.”

The fact was, she didn't want to look in the mirror one second longer than she had to anyway.

He was right about the Heat Suite. American hospitals sometimes had similar facilities but most put heat-cycling omegas off property entirely, or else in soundproofed underground rooms where they could be provided with a rubber knot and a few days of food and water, then basically ignored. This was a different animal entirely, more like a small but luxurious apartment, with a refrigerator, wardrobe, an oversized sectional sofa, and, as Dean had promised, a respectable entertainment center.

He checked the sling, which was on her left arm, for a blessing, and asked if he could see the bandage on her buttock that she hadn't noticed was there.

"What's that from?" she asked.

"Bullet graze, according to the doc. It was fresh when they brought you in, so they guess it was during the extraction."

"Extraction. You mean they sent people in to get me."

"Yep."

"Where are those pills?"

"Right here. Sit down first, though." He guided her to the sofa and helped her sit, then handed her a cup of water and two sizeable pills, which she swallowed without complaint.

"Wow. This stuff's amazing," she said, nodding at the empty water cup. "There's more of it somewhere, right?"

"Oh, yeah. And some food, if you're ready for it. It'll help with the nausea from the meds."

Her stomach growled in response, and he grinned. "Awesome." She closed her eyes and listened to him putter around the room, opening and closing cabinets and the refrigerator door. Something rolled, and he said, "You don't have to open your eyes, but damn you should take a look at these strawberries. They smell almost as good as you do."

A small table sat between them, bearing a plate of fruit and crackers; the promised strawberries, pineapple, slices of fresh peaches, and more that she didn't see because she was too tired to eat after the fifth bite.

"Better than nothing," Dean said. "You want to get out of here for a few minutes, get some fresh air? Might do you some good to walk around a little."

"I..." It should have been tempting, because the air was a little close in the suite, but leaving the room would mean having to show her face to the world, or at least to the hospital. "Not yet. Can we just stay here for a little while longer?"

"What, you mean I have you to myself? Hell, yes. Come on, one more strawberry, then we'll watch whales or something. You know you want it," he said, and snatched one from the tray. He bit off half, revealing a juicy, dark pink center, then skimmed the soft, wet fruit over her lower lip. She caught her breath, but not from holding back tears this time. He noticed, and ran his fingertips over the goosebumps on her arms.

"Hmm. Chills, sensitive to touch, scent getting a little more... luscious. What do you think, time for round two?"

Round two. What did he mean, round—

"I think I'm still... oh. Oh."

"Is it time?

"Mmhmm." It was time, and she was beginning to feel the uncomfortable cold chills that could only mean a few things, and she was pretty sure she didn't have the flu.

"Yeah, I can smell it. Not quite done yet."

"You've been here the whole time," she said, fever and cramps beginning to creep back into the picture. "For—we've—oh God, do they know you're my son?" She couldn't believe it had taken her that long to figure it out. "Does Ellen know?"

"Okay, just breathe. It's all okay. Dr. Vogel knows we're blood relations, and she knows about the CGA. So does Ellen. The doc is all about it and was kinda my cheerleader. For the good of the patient, right? Sam says Ellen is getting used to the idea, and is mostly pissed at me for taking advantage of you."

Mary barked a quick laugh, which made her wince.

"Yeah, watch the ribs. I broke one in touch football last year and it totally sucks."

"You never told me that."

"It's touch football, Mom. You're not supposed to break bones. I figured you'd be pissed."

"Well then, how—"

"I dove for the ball. Like, ten feet. I was trying to impress a girl, okay?"

"Did it work?"

He gave her that silly, flirty grin that must have charmed the panties off God knows how many co-eds, and she laughed again. "Ow. Damn it."

"Will you please eat this?"

She ate the berry and licked the juice off her lips, making Dean swear softly.

"Honestly, that's all I can manage. But I don't want to get back in bed right now. And you don't need to stay; if you can find the remote and a gallon of water, I'll be set for a while."

"Really?" he said, scooting around on the sofa to face her. He leaned close enough to scent her, allowing her to scent him, too, and his smell was like that first drink of cool water, evergreens by a cold stream in high summer, wild mint crushed under sunkissed bodies, and—

"No. Not really. Kiss me." He did, and a shot of pure pleasure went through her, obliterating the pain entirely. The kiss lasted for a long time, and by the time they managed to separate, they were both panting and she was beginning to really sweat from the next wave of heat. "I need a shower first. I'm nasty."

"The hell you are. You're fucking heavenly, and we're going to be covered with each other anyway in about five minutes." He guided her back to lay flat on the sofa—thankfully vinyl, because she was already stupidly wet just from his tongue in her mouth. "I want your pussy under my tongue," he said, but it wasn't a request, it was more of a polite but firm notification. He untied her light robe and laid it open, exposing her to his gaze and touch, and she was so hot and wanting that she couldn't bring herself to be shy about it, or to care about the dark blots on her legs made by hands other than his.

"Good girl," he said. He lifted her knees, parked them both over his shoulders, and dove into her like she was the first beach wave of summer. She covered her mouth with her hands and made a muffled sort of groan, but he lifted his head from his task and pulled her hands gently down to her sides. "No one cares here, Mom. Let me hear you. Tell me you love this. Tell me."

"I do," she said. "God, I do. Please, I need... I need you inside me, please..."

Not yet. He fell back down onto her, his tongue working steadily on her clit, lapping on and around it in long, loving strokes, warming her up for his cock. She writhed under him and he held her hips down in an unshakable grip. Distantly, she thought that others had held her like that and recently, too, which should have made her uncomfortable, but this was her alpha, and his bright, warm, green alpha scent made all the difference in the world.

"Dean, please, it's starting to hurt, can you—"

"Of course."

She felt an intrusion, a long, gentle finger inside her, moving steadily in and out, soon joined by another, the same movement driving her out of her mind with need.

"Another?"

"No, your cock. Need your cock. Now."

"Greedy thing." Dean pushed her legs up and back, then stopped. "Okay? Anything hurting?"

"Won't hurt once you fuck me."

He growled at that, and and entered her slowly, touching every tiny curve and crevice inside her that no dildo possibly could, his flesh perfectly matched to hers. The pace was maddening, the drag rough and jagged against tender flesh, and she thought about how female cats sounded when toms took them, at the mercy of barbed cocks and their own ovaries. Mary didn't blame them for screaming; at this point, she'd be screaming for more, too. It was all she wanted in the world.

"Dean... baby, harder, I need it harder, p-please." The fact that she could put together a complete sentence was a miracle.

"Take it, then," he said, with gritted teeth, and fucked into her harder, making her wail in crazed, desperate appreciation. At the angle he'd put her in, the penetration was exquisite, and she felt him so deep that he might have been drilling all the way into her womb.

He let her left leg down, allowing the other leg a wider stretch, and somehow managed to hit her core at a different angle, one that took her breath away. Her eyes rolled and her back arched, and if there was pain in her ribs, she didn't feel it at all. On and on it went, and sounds came from her alpha that were hardly human, dropping in pitch the faster he fucked her. He pressed her leg against his cheek and licked and sucked wherever he could reach her with his tongue, ran his teeth along her shin hard enough that she could tell he wanted to draw blood and was barely holding himself back.

"Do you wanna come?" he rumbled next to her ear. "Do you want it?"

"Yes!" she cried. "Oh, God, yes!"

"Do it," he said, but then replaced his cock with his fingers, more than two this time, and fucked her hard enough that he shoved her up on the sofa several inches and had to follow after. With the hand that wasn't fucking her, he pulled her uninjured arm down and put her fingers on her clit. "Do it for me. I know you can. I'm right behind you."

She had to follow orders, had to do what her alpha told her. She clenched around his fingers, and he curled them inside her in response, which took her to the edge of madness, too close to what she'd been through, but he kept pumping and ran the palm of his other hand over her nipples. That was all it took—she bowed up as the orgasm pulsed through her, but her alpha shoved her back down and slammed his cock home while she was still coming around him. He wouldn't be able to fuck for much longer, because his knot grew to its full girth in only a few powerful thrusts, and then he came, collapsing, seizing against her and breathing hard.

Her cunt squeezed him all on its own and he responded by pouring release after release into her, filling her, soothing her. He held her for what might have been hours, grinding his knot inside her like a lion in the last throes of mating. She let him, and why not? There was no pain, and no other thoughts that could make it past the fortress of his arms and her heat. She was safe here, safe and loved.

At some point her alpha folded her up against him and moved them both, mumbling something about a huge mess, then settled her back down onto his lap and threw a light blanket over them both.

Just before she fell asleep, she sighed deeply and said, "Alpha."

A few seconds later, she felt his large hand settle on her hair.

"Omega," he whispered. "My beautiful omega."

She woke again to the sound of waves and David Attenborough, with an alpha's knot still buried inside her. It was an odd combination, but not unpleasant.

She hummed, content for the moment, and her alpha said, "Hey, gorgeous. Still in there?"

"Mmm. Think so. Shower now?"

"Nope. We're still tied," Dean said. "You keep twitching. It's not helping the knot go down."

She giggled. "Not helping the knot. That's funny."

"You're cute," he said, kissing her neck. "Ah, there we go." He shifted his hips to dislodge the knot and she sighed in reluctant satisfaction. He laid her down on the sofa, blanket underneath, and spread her legs again.

"What are you doing? Really, I'm fine for now, I just—oh." He'd dipped his fingers inside her and scooped out a fingerful of come. He was spreading it on her inner walls and over her labia, then getting more and covering the inguinal crease. A dollop massaged on her breasts. Some on her neck, directly over her scent glands. And finally a fingerful in her mouth, which she licked off and swallowed dutifully. "Scent-marking, hm? What's that about? Not that I'm complaining."

"Because you're mine."

"Dean, I'm not anyone's."

"Okay fine, whatever, but you're not theirs anymore. You're ours. And I'm so fucking glad you're back." Sorrow and fear still darkened his golden green eyes, and she wondered what shadows she might find in her own eyes the next time she looked in the mirror. She was not a little grateful when a knock came at the door.

After a polite interval, during which Dean wrapped her back up in her robe, the door opened and a well-put-together woman came in wearing a white coat with Dr. J. Vogel neatly stitched on the chest. She stopped at the door, blinking, and Mary had to assume the wall of scent from alpha-omega sex had hit her head-on. Even betas could smell the undiluted evidence of that much fucking.

"Mrs. Winchester?" the doctor said, even though she had to have known who Mary was by now.

"Dr. Vogel," Mary said, not offering her hand, given the dried fluids it was no doubt covered in.

"And Dean," Dr. Vogel said. She beamed at him, and ruffled his hair. He gave her his most humble grin, which is to say not very humble at all, and she laughed. To Mary she said, "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see your heat resolved in such a straightforward and healthy manner. If your son had chosen to use medication, we might have seen some unfortunate side effects. So. Are you feeling better?"

They talked for a while about her condition and injuries, Dean's arm wrapped protectively around Mary's undamaged shoulder, a classic alpha response to a new person meeting his omega in heat, even though he already knew the person and the heat seemed to be waning.

"These are all good things," the doctor said. "So we must take another blood sample, to evaluate your hormone levels and be sure that you can remain calm for the x-rays later, which will tell us about any broken bones you might have. And I would like to conduct a pelvic exam, to make sure your vaginal and anal tissue is healing. How do you feel about these tests?"

Mary couldn't answer immediately for two reasons: firstly, that a doctor was asking her opinion and consent about physical tests, which didn't usually happen in the US because omegas were often thought of more as children than as adults, and second, Dean had started kissing her neck in an obvious demonstration of possession. And it felt very, very good.

"I'm fine with all of them," Mary said, beginning to feel another wave of arousal coming on. "If my alpha would stop distracting me, I'm pretty sure we could get this over with fairly quickly."

"They are both simple tests. Dean, would you mind helping your mother to the bed?"

"Absolutely," he said, and swept her into his arms and onto the bed in one smooth movement, causing hardly a twinge of pain. Although she was sure that had something to do with the painkillers.

"Please lie back, Mrs. Winchester. I will uncover you from the waist down for approximately one minute and thirty seconds, and then I will take a quick blood sample."

That was fine. Dean had begun kissing her, to distract her from the pelvic exam, no doubt, and was stroking her face and hair while a snap echoed through the suite as Dr. Vogel put on gloves.

"Here we go." Mary felt cool air on her legs, then Dr. Vogel was moving her heels up on the bed to spread them for the exam. There were gentle touches on her labia and mons veneris, and an even cooler slickness on the doctor's fingers as she slid just two inside and felt around for a moment. There was no pain, and Dean kissed her the entire time, a soft meeting of his plush lips with hers as the doctor finished the exam.

Dr. Vogel moved Mary's legs flat on the bed and covered them with her robe. "Dean, could you—oh. Never mind. Mary, I will take the blood sample now."

Mary pulled away from Dean, a frisson of anxiety spiking her heart rate.

"Is it a needle? I don't think. Can... is there any other way?"

Dr. Vogel put a light hand on Mary's shin. "Not a needle, just a little prick, like a sugar test. Here it is," she said, and showed it to Mary. It looked more like a pen than a syringe.

"Okay," she said, and laid back down, Dean's lips back on hers immediately. She felt a tiny pinch on her finger, and it was done.

Dean interrupted the kiss long enough to say, "Thanks, Dr. V."

"Of course. I'll let you know the test results shortly. And as impressed as I am with your devotion to your mother, you really must let her rest occasionally."

Rest. Yes, more rest sounded absolutely perfect. She was still aroused from Dean's kisses, but when he moved away and laid the blanket over her she found herself dozing off almost immediately, listening to them talk over her.

_"...maybe eight more hours..."_

_"...not just any alpha's semen, you understand..."_

_"...things may change when her hormones drop..."_

"Dean," she said. "Are you really going to be a nursing assistant?"

"I was kidding. Unless you're my only patient, in which case I'd consider it. Get some rest, Mom," Dean said. He kissed her on the forehead, and she heard the door open and close as they left her to her dreams.


	9. The Winchesters come home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-con flashbacks. Please be safe.

As in American hospitals, the rules required that Mary use a wheelchair until she left the hospital, and in this case, Dr. Vogel agreed. But once back in the hotel, Mary balked at the chair, and Dean wasn’t about to argue with her. Dr. Vogel had hinted that Mary’s mood would change dramatically when her heat was over, and she wasn’t wrong; his mother had gone from a cuddly sex kitten to a reclusive, cave-dwelling saber-toothed tiger over the course of a few hours, and the sudden transition was a little alarming, if understandable.

On their last day in Berlin, Mary wouldn’t let Dean in her hotel room, but had asked Ellen to help her dress and put some heavy makeup over the black eye for the meeting with the _Landeskriminalamt_. They’d been patient during her recovery and heat, perfectly aware of the consequences of her captivity, but as soon as Mary told Henriksen she was ready, they scheduled three hours in the Hildegard Room at the Regent. So she didn’t have to drag herself down to the police station, and if she wanted anything at all, Dean would be right there to make sure she had it. Then they would go straight to the airport and get the hell back home.

The Hildegard Room was on the ground floor, and designated a scent-free zone by the sign outside the door and the requisite rack of complimentary scent blockers that attendees were expected to wear. After Dean and Mary made their choices (unscented for Dean, a light floral gel for his mother that made his sinuses burn), he opened the door for her and reluctantly let her in first.

They were greeted by five agents, two women and three men, all in sober suits, bearing small notebooks, tablets, or in Victor Henriksen’s case, an open laptop computer. Henriksen introduced the other four but Dean had a hard time paying attention to anything but the low thrum of energy coming from his mother. He didn’t need to smell her to know that this was the last place in the world she wanted to be. His first impulse was to put his hand on her shoulder for comfort, but he knew it would be unwelcome.

Mary sat in one of the burgundy velvet armchairs and Dean stationed himself just behind her. Henriksen led the inquisition and asked all the standard questions Dean had expected. Mary remembered most of the details before they got her in the van, but as soon as they drugged her, things went dark, she said.

“They injected me, I kicked Lisbeth out—how is she, by the way?”

“She’s mostly fine,” Henriksen said. “Landed on the curb when she fell out of the van and busted a rib, but it’ll heal.”

“Good. And Pietro, the security officer? What happened to him? No one’s said.”

“Broken, but not irreparably.”

“That’s good, then.”

“Yes. So you kicked Lisbeth out and then?” Henriksen prompted.

“So… oh. Yes. I remember the van doors closing and then nothing until the apartment. By then I was just about into a full heat, so, again, not a lot of clarity.”

“You were with them for two days. Were you in a full heat the whole time? No respite?”

“Yes,” Mary said, and Dean could sense another layer of tension hemming her in as the memories barged into the conversation, hazy as they were.

“How was that dealt with?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Did they take any measures to alleviate your discomfort?” Henriksen said. The euphemism irritated the hell out of Dean, and it seemed to have the same effect on Mary.

“You mean did they try to fuck it out of me?” she said. “Yes. Many times.”

If a pin had dropped on the plush carpeted floor of the Hildegard Room, every person there would have heard it.

It took a full minute before anyone could speak, and then Dean said, “I realize this is a difficult subject, but my little brother is wetting his pants waiting to get his mom back and we have a flight to catch. Can we move this along?”

“Of course,” said Henriksen smoothly. “Mrs. Winchester, what can you tell us about the people who were with you? How many were there?”

“Four, I think. But I’m not sure. You understand that, right? There may have been more, may have been less, but I was really out of it. I don’t want to mislead the investigation.”

One of the female agents said, “Thank you, Mrs. Winchester. We understand completely.” And Dean thought she probably did.

A male agent spoke up, in a low, growly voice that made something in Dean’s spine want to tuck its tail and hide. “Were there any other omegas with you?”

“No,” Mary said. “Not that I saw—or smelled. There was a woman—Bela, I think, she was a beta—and three men. A beta and two alphas. One of the alphas wore a mask, so I can’t tell you much about him. Tall. Skinny. And he never laid hands on me. Spat on me a few times, but didn’t touch me.”

“Jesus,” Dean whispered.

“I’d like you to identify him from a photograph, if you can,” the agent said. When he held out a tablet to Mary, Dean noticed his eyes; deep, deep blue, like the water off St. Augustine beach just before sunset, a few shades darker than his mother’s, and almost as lovely.

Dean dragged his attention back to the tablet, which showed a screen capture from the ransom video, a clear image of the man who’d made the demand. Mary didn’t touch the tablet, but she nodded. “That’s him. And he never took it off. The mask.”

“Thank you. I’d like to play you a sample of the video he sent, to verify the voice and—”

“No,” Dean said. It was absurd, given that sticks and stones had already hurt her, but he just couldn’t stand the idea of his mother hearing the horrible things the man in the demon mask had said about her in the video.

“Dean,” his mother said, pitching her voice so that only he could hear it. “It’s fine. Let’s just do this and go home. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Mary nodded at the agent with the sea-blue eyes, and he tapped the triangle. The man in the demon mask began to speak.

_“…but then one of my associates recognized her, and we realized that there's another way to recoup our losses. I'll admit, she's a fine musician, and no one wants to see her ruined—more than she is already—but you'll have to be more cooperative than she’s been if you want to get her back. In the amount of 2.5 million dollars.”_

Dean exhaled and nodded his thanks to the agent, who could have picked a much worse excerpt to play. The agent blinked back, somehow managing to communicate “you’re welcome” and “what kind of idiot do you think I am?” in the same expression.

“That’s not his voice. It’s not the voice I heard, anyway,” Mary said.

“And his scent?”

She thought for a moment. “Have you ever hit a skunk?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I don’t think there are skunks in Europe, but they’re fairly common in the United States. You can smell the spray from miles away, but it’s really awful when you hit one, or drive right by one just after it’s been killed, when the scent gland is ruptured, and it’s pungent, eye-watering, and hot somehow, like freshly-poured asphalt, you’re stuck in a car and rolling the windows up doesn’t help because it’s already in your nose and throat, and… and like eggs. Rotten eggs, or… Dean, you remember that house we first rented when we moved to Florida? Next to the lake with the sulfur deposits?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“Well, that’s what he smelled like.”

“What was his name?” the agent asked.

“He didn’t exactly introduce himself.”

“Did the others call him anything?”

“I didn’t… actually, I did hear them calling him Az once or twice.”

The agent sat back and stared at her for so long that Dean thought it might be time to go punch him, gorgeous blue eyes or not.

“Az.”

“Yeah, you heard her,” Dean barked. “Are we done here?”

“All right,” Henriksen said. “Only a few more questions.”

They made it quick, and soon enough Henriksen was thanking Mary and wishing her a safe journey home. Dean escorted his mother to the hall, but Mary stopped just before they left the Hildegard Room. She lifted her nose, clearly scenting something, and it didn’t seem like a bad smell at all. On the contrary, a flush was beginning to rise from her high-necked shirt to her ears, and in another second, Dean understood why. The scent was almost imperceptible, but so tantalizing that he wanted to sniff the entire room to find it out. Chocolate, maybe? Coffee? He couldn’t place it.

In the corner of the room, the agents were getting back down to business around the conference table. The man with the blue eyes and deep voice had taken off his suit jacket and was rolling up his sleeves, showing muscled forearms that shifted with every tap of his fingers on the tablet. He looked up at Dean and Mary, his eyes wide, as if he knew they were watching him, but Sam took that opportunity to wreck the moment by barreling into Dean, nearly knocking him down and Mary with him. The agent stood up at the interruption and stared at the Winchesters, clearly checking Mary for damage even from a distance.

Dean peeled Sam off and walked them all back out to the lobby to meet Ellen. “C’mon Sammy. You up for another museum today?”

“Dude, no way. No offense to Berlin, but I wanna go home.”

“I agree,” said Mary quietly. “Let’s go home.”

The auction house sent a larger SUV to take them to the airport and thoughtfully supplied a warm body to help with luggage. They’d been booked in spacious first class all the way home, for which Mary expressed sincere gratitude, since she was still sore as hell and would be for several more weeks, painkillers notwithstanding.

Dean didn’t much like the first class setup, mostly because the seats were too far apart and he couldn’t keep a protective hand on Mary. He had a dark suspicion that they were about to say good-bye for a while; she hadn’t said as much, but her scent spoke volumes. Underneath her tart sweetness was ash and stone, and maybe it was only because her heat had just burned through her like wildfire, but Dean thought it was something else, too. Something cold and icy that didn’t allow for closeness and company. The tension did nothing for his fear of flying; he threw up twice before they got stateside, although he hid in the economy class toilet to do it.

In Newark, they said good-bye to Ellen with hugs and more than a few tears, then got back on another plane to Orlando. And damn, but that black tarmac in Orlando was fucking gorgeous. The Impala was safe and sound right where he’d left her in long-term parking, and he and Sam threw luggage in the roomy trunk with passionate enthusiasm, although Mary didn’t let go of her travel violin for a second.

They stopped for dinner and were back in St. Augustine by midnight, just in time for Mary’s endurance to fail completely. Dean managed to get two glasses of water in her and helped her dress for bed, because showering was out of the question in her condition, and she wasn’t about to let him give her a sponge bath. Dean had hoped that things would drift closer to normal once they got State-side, but it wasn’t happening. They were strange together now; the dreamlike fluidity of the lovemaking during her heat was gone, replaced by awkward movements made worse by her injuries. But the deeper truth was worse. She was pulling away from him. He shouldn’t have been taking it personally, but it was exactly the opposite of what his alpha wanted, which was to cover her body with his and protect her from every possible danger for the rest of their lives. Because he hadn’t been there to protect her in the first place.

He tucked her into bed and she fell asleep in seconds, leaving him at a loss as to where he should sleep. If she woke, would she need someone with her? Would she prefer him or Sam? Why didn’t she have a big drooling dog to look after her and should he go get one the next day if the shelters were open? What the fuck day was it, anyway?

In the end, he lay on top of his covers and twitched for an hour or so, leaving their separate bedroom doors open so he could hear her if she needed anything. He hoped she did need something so he could fetch it for her—another glass of water, another pain pill, his bloody heart on a platter. He didn’t know how else to prove himself to her, to prove that he was still her alpha even after her heat, and that no one would ever hurt her again.

But he knew in his bones that he couldn’t guarantee anything, not her safety or her happiness, and she’d never asked him to, not really. He was the one who made promises he couldn’t keep. He and his idiot alpha.

* * *

Dean knew something was wrong as soon as he woke up, even before he opened his eyes, and it didn’t take long to figure it out. It was morning—probably—and the house was silent. Any other morning he would have heard a violin singing from the other side of the house, but not today.

He knew why, but still, he swung his legs over the side of his bed, and went to find his mother.

She was in the kitchen making pancakes and bacon, sling in place. A pitcher of orange juice was on the breakfast bar and the blender was full of strange vegetable matter that would most likely turn into one of Sam’s disgusting breakfast smoothies once the kid stumbled in later.

“Hey,” he said.

She jumped and dropped the spatula, knocking the bowl of pancake batter off the counter and sending globs of pancake batter flying. No way in hell he was going to catch that bowl without mowing his mother down, so all he could do was watch it fall in slow motion and land on the floor, upside down.

“Of course,” his mother said. “Shit.”

“Let me,” Dean said, leading her to sit at the kitchen table. He turned down the heat on the bacon skillet, cleaned up the puddle of batter on the floor in a matter of minutes, then saw with some horror that there was no coffee. Immediate intervention was needed.

She saw what he was doing and said, “None for me. I’m off caffeine since the hospital. Don’t want to relapse. And I’m honestly jittery enough as it is.”

“Yeah. Well, as impressed as I am that you put a short stack together with a bum arm, I’m afraid I have to take over.”

“Have at it,” she said, her light tone barely hiding a layer of irritation that he recognized from previous injuries. Mary Winchester was grade-A lousy at letting other people do things for her.

He started from scratch with the ingredients on hand—his mother’s house sitter had restocked the basics as the Winchester crew was flying home—and had another dozen pancakes steaming on a plate by the time Sam trudged out of his room.

“Awesome,” he said. “I’m starving.”

“Of course you are,” Dean said. “Mom put you a smoothie together, you want it?”

“Yeah, thanks Mom.”

“Half of that’s for me, actually,” Mary said.

“Coming right up.” Dean started the blender and couldn’t help but notice the tiny twitch that moved through his mother’s shoulders at the noise.

They talked through the upcoming day as they made their way through breakfast. Dean insisted on taking Mary to her first physical therapy appointment, but she refused to let him sit in on the session, although later he watched the action in the gym through the glass doors in the waiting room. Garth, a tall, gangly beta who looked a little too much like a Muppet for Dean’s liking, was hands-on with Mary, and gave her a gentle, all-encompassing hug with his freakishly long arms as he said good-bye.

She didn’t pull away from him.

“How was it?” Dean said as he opened the Impala’s passenger-side door for her.

“Painful. But he looked at the scans and agrees with the doctors. Doesn’t think the damage is permanent. He told me how to make cheap ice packs and gave me a set of stretches to do in a few days once the swelling has gone down completely. Et cetera.”

“The alcohol-and-water packs?”

“Yep. I’ll send you and Sam back out in a little while for supplies. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to get out of the house.”

Dean and Sam came back from the store loaded with more groceries than they could eat in a month, including ingredients for fajitas, burritos, enchiladas, and tacos, since they didn’t know what Mary might want, and she’d never seen anything wrapped in a tortilla she didn’t like. It wasn’t Tuesday, but it was gonna be Taco Tuesday in the Winchester household that night come hell or high water.

High water seemed to be on its way, if the curtain of rain that fell on them as they ducked under the patio was any indication, which was fine with Dean. It was an early summer Florida rain, fresh and clean, and it meant they were finally home. He hoped it would hang out for a while and keep them company.

Dean put himself to work in the kitchen while Sam and Mary started the first Avengers movie, his mother openly drooling over Black Widow’s opening fight, when she kicks the asses of two guys while roped to a chair.

“Not a fair fight,” Mary said. “Those Russians never stood a chance.”

She’d said it every time, since they’d all seen it in the theater together. Dean felt one of the tight spots in his shoulders release just a little. Maybe there was a shot at a little bit of normal after all.

They stuffed themselves on Tex-Mex and returned to the movie, making it halfway through the battle of New York before Mary’s phone rang. She hauled herself to standing slowly, her bruised ribs making the simplest movements painful, and took the call in her bedroom. She gave the boys a “keep going” signal, since they’d all seen this one a dozen times at least.

By the time the credits rolled, the boys were half-asleep on the sofa, but when she came back and sat on the coffee table to face them, they woke up and paid attention. She didn’t make them wait.

“I have a friend in Siesta Key who’s invited me to come stay with her for a while.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. He knew the friend, a gorgeous older omega lady with a liking for crystals and all kinds of herbs, especially the illegal ones, and he also knew good and well that he wasn’t on the guest list for that visit.

“When are you going?” Sam asked. The muted anxiety in his voice suggested that maybe he wasn’t quite ready to separate from the mother ship. Dean sympathized.

“Two days. So I suppose it’s a good thing we have a huge freezer in the garage because the two of you bought enough groceries for the apocalypse.”

“Can you drive with the sling?” Dean said.

“I’ve got some movement. Enough to steer the Highlander, for sure. I checked with Garth this afternoon; he didn’t have a problem with it.”

So the Muppet knew she was leaving before her sons did. Well, shit. Dean was a big boy, but he wasn’t good enough at controlling his emotions to cover up the way his scent turned a little stale and sad.

Sam couldn’t even look at her. He extricated himself from the sofa where they’d all been comfortably huddled not ten minutes before, and said, “Am I going back to school tomorrow or the day after?”

“I think tomorrow would be best. Dean, honey, I know it’s out of your way, but can you take him? I’ll pitch in for gas, of course.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, pushing the word through the sandpaper in his throat. “’Course I can. Whatever you need.”

“What I need is a functioning shoulder so I can play,” she said. “And Alisha’s promised me twenty-four hours of Reiki over the course of a week—”

It triggered an avalanche of bickering.

“Aw, Mom, you know that shit’s a bunch of—”

“Actually, Dean, there are some studies—”

“Sam, you can’t possibly believe—”

“It’s not what I believe, this isn’t a faith thing, it’s about science, and the research isn’t definitive but—”

“Goodnight,” Mary said as she headed to her bedroom to escape the argument. “Love you both.”

Dean heard the door close and glared at Sam. “We had maybe five more minutes with her and you had to chase her away.”

Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “fucking knothead alphas” and stomped off to bed.

Damn it.

Dean stretched out on the living room sofa, listened to the rain, and watched the ceiling fan rotate for a long while, struggling with a flood of disjointed thoughts and memories that took the events of the last week and turned them into miserable, maddening garbage. He couldn’t seem to let his brain idle for more than a minute at a time without getting pulled back into the loop of dark images and faceless shadows.

After what might have been hours, he heard his mother’s bedroom door open. There was a good chance she was getting her usual midnight glass of water and he didn’t want to startle her, so he sat up and gave an exaggerated yawn to get her attention.

“Dean, baby, what are you doing out here?” she said, once she noticed him.

“Couldn’t sleep. You?” He rolled off the sofa and wandered into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while she settled by the kitchen island across from him. Her face was gray under the dim kitchen night light, and her hair, sunshine gold under the best conditions, was the color of burnt-out, ashy charcoal. He couldn’t have looked much better.

“Couldn’t sleep. Want some water?”

“Not really. Want some company? Not like that kind of company. Just, you know. Company.”

The silence, underscored by the steady rain, was an answer, but not the one he wanted.

“Mom, I can’t—”

“No, just, it’s not—”

“Please let me say this, Mom. Please.” She took a long drink, then nodded. “See, I can’t even begin to understand what kind of bombs are going off in your brain after what happened. I can’t. Ain’t gonna pretend to. So I have to ask straight out instead. Did I do something, Mom? Did I touch you wrong since we’ve been back, or should I not have been your alpha in Berlin? Because if there’s something I did, something I can fix—”

“You did the right thing in Berlin, Dean,” she said, moving to put her arms around him. And then retreating back to the counter. “You always do the right thing. But what happened just… honey, it can’t be fixed. Well, maybe it can be put back together, but it’ll never be the same. I’ll never be the same. You and Sam probably won’t, either.”

“But I can come back after your Siesta Key… siesta or whatever is over, and take care of you. Someone should. Bobby said my job’s open as long as I need it and two of my classes are online anyway.”

“No. It’s not fair to you.”

“It’s totally fair to me, I don’t want anything else in the world than to be with you.”

“Which is part of the problem. You’re going to want things from me that I can’t give you.”

“Like what?”

“Like attention. And sex, maybe, and all the things people expect from a lover.” She didn’t look at him, but kept her eyes focused on their bare feet, which just met in the floor between them. Both low-arched and long-toed, their proportions neatly matching the other’s.

“I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Tell me you weren’t upset I closed my door tonight.”

“I didn’t want…I just wanted to keep an eye on you, is that unreasonable? I’m your alpha, I was supposed to keep you—”

“I don’t want to be watched all the time. I’m safe here. I think I’m safe here. I know you worry, but I need you to do that from a distance, okay?”

No, it’s goddamned not okay, Dean thought. He felt those telltale needles prickling the inside of his nose and refused to yield to them. Not in front of her.

“Of course. If it’s what you need, then… just let me know when you get home from Siesta. Please. Not as your alpha, just as your son. Me and Sam both.”

“Okay.”

They listened to the rain together, and Mary scooted her foot a little closer to his, offering a pinky toe’s worth of comfort.

He knew she didn’t want him butting in, but he asked anyway. “You made the appointment with Dr. Barnes?”

“Yes. It would have been stupid not to. I suspect I’m going to need a little help getting my head back on straight. Bad enough my nose isn’t working anymore.”

“What’s that about?”

“Damned if I know. I keep smelling Berlin. I’ve taken three showers since we got home yesterday and scrubbed myself raw every single time, but I still smell him on me. Him, and the others, and the place where they kept me, and the hospital, and…”

Shit. He knew exactly what she meant.

“And me,” he supplied.

“Yes. I’m sorry. It’s all… it’s just a mess and I can’t seem to separate out the good things from the bad, and I want to scent you so desperately, Dean, I want my boys back, both of you, and I know this is just in my head but it won’t let go and I don’t know how to stop it, can you please understand and try not to be hurt because I swear—” She was crying openly now, and he didn’t know what to do, whether he should hug her gently or keep his hands to himself.

“Okay,” he said quietly. He took her glass to the refrigerator and refilled it with ice water, then grabbed a paper towel and handed them both to her. “I got no clue where the Kleenex box is.”

She gave a quick, tired laugh and dabbed at her eyes, took a sip of water. “You’re terribly good at keeping me hydrated, Dean. I really do appreciate it.”

“It’s my honor,” he said, and meant it. “So I’ll see you in, what, a couple of weeks?”

Mary sighed. “Dean.”

“This isn’t about sex!”

“Dean, you had to know things would change. I’m not the same person—”

“You are the same person! They can’t take that away from you!”

“Away from me? Or away from you?”

“Mom, please don’t…” He forgot himself and went to put his arms around her, but she shoved him away and slammed him back against the other countertop with a low defensive snarl. Before Dean even had time to be shocked, she pivoted away, obviously hurting from the movement.

“You aren’t getting this, and I don’t have the energy or the heart to explain it again,” she said, the words stiff and tightly controlled. “None of this is your fault, and you shouldn’t be punished for it, but I can’t tell you how long it will take to sort through this... this _shit_. So just trust that I will call you when I’m ready. Good night, baby.” She didn’t wait for a response, but headed back down the hallway to her bedroom. The door closed, but didn’t lock, which was something of a comfort. But he’d have to be a moron to open that door anyway without an engraved invitation, no matter how badly he wanted to lay next to her and just listen to her breathe.

* * *

They were all up by eight, and Sam was packed and ready to go by nine.

“It’s not fair,” he said while they waited for Mary to get dressed. “It’s not fair, and it’s your fault.”

“I know,” Dean said, which earned him a suspicious glare. “For all kinds of reasons, and I’m not gonna talk about them now. Probably not ever. Not to you, anyway.”

“Fine,” Sam said. “Whatever.”

Dean had a rude comment waiting in the wings, but Mary emerged from the bedroom and gave them both a wistful smile.

“Sending my boys back off to school,” she said. “It’s going to be quiet here. No more Captain America.”

“Nothing stopping you from watching them on your own, Mom,” Dean said as he gave her an awkward embrace.

“There’s hardly any point,” she said, trying to smooth Sam’s stubborn cowlick. “It would just make me miss you both more.”

“Then why can’t we just stay for a—”

“Sam, come on, it’s time, buddy.”

Sam gave Mary a light squeeze around her waist that didn’t seem to hurt her too badly, and they left with no more overt drama, although the two-hour drive back to Sam’s school was uncomfortably quiet.

“They’re all going to know,” Sam said after an hour of silence. “About Mom. Some of them can be real assholes.”

“They won’t know all of it, and they don’t need to. Also I’m pretty sure you remember how to take down any kind of asshole who deserves it, alpha or not.”

“Is it bad that I want to beat someone up anyway, whether or not they deserve it?”

Dean paused before answering. “It’s only natural to want payback.”

“But that doesn’t make it right,” Sam said.

“Who are you, fucking Gandhi?”

“Mom wouldn’t want me to beat up some kid at school just because he was being a dick. It would go on my record, plus I’m pretty sure she’d tell me it was wrong.”

Dean grunted. “Yeah. She would. But Dad would do it anyway.”

When they reached the campus, Dean offered to walk Sam to the front office to sign authorization papers, but Sam turned him down.

“Mom said she handled it yesterday when we were at the grocery store. All I have to do is sign a re-entry attendance slip and kick Dave out of the top bunk when I get back to the dorm. Thanks, though.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Text me when you get back to Tallahassee?”

“Sure. Keep in touch, Sammy.”

“Stop calling me Sammy, jerk.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Not the warm farewell that Dean had kind of hoped for, but at least it wasn’t the silent treatment. Could have been worse.

Back on the road, he had a decision to make. He could take I-95 through Jacksonville or 75 through Orlando, and while the drive time was about the same, I-95 would take him awfully close to St. Augustine, and Mary.

She had made her wishes crystal clear.

He took 75, and kept his misery under control for the trip, knowing that the last thing his mother needed was for him to wreck Baby on his way home because he was bawling like a two-year-old just dropped off at day care. He was a fucking adult. He could handle this. It took a while, but eventually the white noise of tires on the freeway and the dark purr of the Impala’s 427 lulled him into a surreal state of awareness that let him focus on the road, and nothing else.

Five hours later he swung into the parking lot of the off-campus student apartment complex. He didn’t see Charlie’s car, which was a disappointment he wouldn’t admit to himself, or to Charlie, for that matter. They had exchanged bare bones text messages when he was in Berlin, but he hadn’t given her many details, nor had he said exactly when he was coming back to town. And she was the one person in the world he needed to talk to. Right now.

No such luck. He smelled his roommate, but she was behind the closed door of her bedroom, which meant she was sleeping, either alone or with Dorothy. He wasn’t about to knock on the door to find out.

He shot off a group text to his mother and Sam to let them know he’d gotten back safely, then checked below the kitchen sink to see how much whiskey was left in the apartment. There was probably beer in the fridge but no way was that gonna be enough.

Charlie had either had a really shitty week, or had seen a drunk front approaching from the southeast, because there was almost a full fifth of Jim Beam in the cabinet. It didn’t exactly have his name on it, but there was nothing saying he couldn’t drink it, and Charlie had never given a shit about observing the legal drinking age.

Dean found a heavy-bottomed rocks glass, poured several fingers, and let his head drop forehead first onto the kitchen table. No rocks required, not tonight, when the hypnotic rhythm of the road was wearing off too fast, replaced by last week’s persistent, scattered memories. He was beginning to understand why his mother was having a hard time making sense of anything; it was all swirling together again, circling like a wake of vultures coming to tear pieces out of his soft, useless brain.

The cold feeling in his guts when Ellen had said the words. _Your mom’s been taken._

Henriksen, asking about the heat. _Could it kill her?_ And Sam, losing the last of his usual self-assurance, bawling in Ellen’s arms.

His mother’s salty sweetness, brought on by her heat and her alpha, her feverishly hot muscles tight around his knot, as he did everything in his power to ease her heat. Looking at herself in the mirror for the first time. _They really did a number on me, didn’t they?_

The man in the demon mask, and his oily, hate-soaked voice. _They call her a _schwann schlampe_. German for ‘cock slut.’ Crude, but accurate._

_“FUCK!”_

Dean upended the kitchen table, sending textbooks flying like ungainly birds, and launching his glass across the room to shatter on the front door, dousing it with whiskey. The door to Charlie's room opened and she peeked out, sleepy and spooked at the same time.

"Dude. You okay?"

Dean's legs fell out from under him, landing him on the floor, where put his head in his hands and cried.

"Obviously not. Oh, gosh," Charlie said. She sat on the floor beside him and didn't hesitate to pull him into a firm embrace, the kind of hug his mother had given him when his father died. She didn't ask about specifics and she didn't offer anything in the way of advice; she just stayed with him and let him cry.

Sam had always claimed that of the two designations, alphas were the real weepers, unless you counted sexed-out, happy omegas. Dean was beginning to believe him.

After a while, he gave a huge, snotty sniff and Charlie fetched him a roll of paper towels from the kitchen. He made his face even redder by wiping his eyes and nose with them, but they did the job and that's what mattered. Fuck a bunch of Puffs anyway. Give him shop towels any day.

"You wanna talk?" Charlie asked. "Or you wanna go to Perkins? They usually have lemon meringue pie on Thursdays. Or we can do both."

"Are you kidding? Pie first," Dean said.

"Cool. I gotta change my shirt, though, you got snot all over Han Solo. Plus, honestly, Dean, you totally stink. Who broke up with your sorry ass?"

Dean sniffled and wiped his nose again.

“Oh, damn,” Charlie said. “I didn’t even think.”

“’S’ok.”

“I’ve got some blockers you can have for today, and we’ll stock up on our way back.”

“I need a shower before we go.”

“Fuck a shower, Dean. You need pie. Listen to your big sister for once.” Dean snorted an impressive gob of snot, which made Charlie cringe. “God, _boys._ Gross. How my parents ever thought I could date one is beyond me.”

“Still don’t know why you’re living with me.”

“Lesbians don’t like you, Dean. Not like that, anyway. So no competition. I’m gonna change. You do something about the mess.”

He cleaned up the broken glass and the whiskey it used to hold, righted the table, and stacked the textbooks roughly where they’d been before his outburst.

Charlie bounced out of her room in a clean Ravenclaw t-shirt, entirely too chipper for the occasion, but it was meant to get him out of his head, and he appreciated the effort. “You want me to drive?”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“That’s a hard no, then. Well, Dorothy’s got my car, so find your keys and let’s blow this joint.”

So he could stay in the apartment and have Jim Beam keep him company, or he could find some pie with his best friend and talk about how much he needed to kill something.

Charlie would understand. She always did.

“Hang on,” she said on their way out the door. She pulled a couple of plastic-wrapped wipes from the back pocket of her jeans and handed them to Dean. “They’re double-strength blockers. Use them both, dude. You need all the help you can get.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Although part of him wanted everyone else to feel exactly as shitty as he did.

* * *

May 5th

_Dean hey_

_Mary Hi. How was class?_

_Dean good. how was PT?_

_Mary Painful_

_Dean good, it’s supposed to be. what’s the muppet saying about recovery times?_

_Mary Maybe six weeks of restricted movement and a lot more exercises. And don’t call him names. Garth is really good at what he does._

_Dean i’ll take your word for it. what are you having for dinner?_

_Mary Don’t do the stalker thing. Please consider getting a girlfriend_

_Mary I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I know you’re concerned_

_Dean yes. but i don’t mean to be a little girl about it_

_Mary Sexist insults will not get you anywhere in this world_

_Dean heard. can i come see you this weekend?_

_Mary No. I’m sorry_

_Dean did i do something unusually stupid?_

_Mary No, honey, it’s just_

_Mary My nose is still so messed up_

_Dean i’m sending you a link to a youtube playlist, do you know how to open it?_

_Mary I’m middle-aged, Dean, not a dinosaur._

_Dean yeah, i know. i love you_

_Mary I love you_

* * *

May 8th

_Dean hey. just checking in, haven’t heard from you in a couple of days_

_Dean mom?_

_Dean can i come home tomorrow? i miss you_

_Mary I miss you too, I can’t even tell you how much_

_Dean awesome, i’ll be there around lunchtime_

_Mary Please stay at school for now_

_Dean did dr b tell you to keep me away? bcause i totally understand if she did_

_Mary Not at all. If you want to be mad at someone be mad at me_

_Dean i could never be mad at you_

_Mary Please alpha I’m begging you, I can’t be with you right now_

_Dean i don’t expect that, of course i don’t_

_Mary It’s so hard to explain. We’ll talk next time I see you_

_Dean any idea when?_

_Mary I don’t know_

* * *

May 9th

Everything felt sticky, from the knob of her front door to the steering wheel of the Highlander to the back of her neck and her toes inside her shoes, and it was driving her nuts. She tried to pay attention to what Dr. Barnes—Pamela, on some days—was saying, but all she could think about was how much she wanted this looming thunderstorm to break over her head, dump a million gallons of water on her, and then fuck right off.

It sounded like something Dean would say.

“Mary? Are you with me? What’s funny?”

“Thinking about Dean. His less than socially acceptable language.”

“Do you miss him?”

Mary thought about the night they had gone to dinner, before everything had changed, when he’d asked her the same thing about the Impala. She had the same answer.

“All the time.”

Dr. Barnes said nothing in response to this, leaving only the whirr of the fan at its lowest setting to fill the silence.

“So now’s the time where you ask me what I’m going to do about it.”

Dr. Barnes chuckled, her face as smooth and unlined as always, her dark unseeing eyes no longer disconcerting, since Mary had been working with her since she’d moved to St. Augustine. “Nope. We’re off the reservation, Mary. Obviously you’re at a point where you can ask yourself those questions. I can nudge you in one direction or another, but it’s important that you listen to your own dialogue more than mine. And I can give you a safe space to speak. Which might help, or might not.”

Without any warning at all, Mary slipped into a daydream that arose regularly these days, the one where Dean was holding her in the hospital room in Germany, stroking her back and hair and telling her about the whales on the documentary they were watching, whispering to her, claiming her in the sweetest way. As always, it shifted into the feeling of thick, heavy fingers in her hair, jerking her head back so far she could hear the cartilage in her neck creak in protest, another set of fingers opening her jaws, and a cock reeking of foul alpha sweat being shoved into her throat. She gagged, and tried desperately not to vomit.

“Sorry,” she said eventually. “I just… sometimes I just go back. I had—oh, to hell with this, Pamela, I’m sorry, I can’t today. I just can’t.”

“Okay.”

By the time the session was over, dark billowing clouds had settled over St. Augustine and Mary could almost feel them pressing down on her shoulders like—

She started the Highlander and, out of curiosity more than anything else, found the link to Dean’s playlist in her email and fired it up for the first time. The SUV had a ridiculous sound system—almost as good as the one Dean had installed in the Impala—and the opening riff to her favorite Boston song streamed through the speakers.

_I looked out this morning and the sun was gone…turned on some music to start my day..._

He just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could he? Somehow her oldest son was determined to make her feel better, and he knew that music was the best way to do it.

_It’s more than a feeling… when I hear that old song play, it’s more than a feeling…_

Almost cheating, really.

When the irresistible rhythm guitar kicked in, she turned up the volume and drove home in the rain. If anyone caught her singing out loud on the way, they could blame her son for the crime against classic rock. It was his fault entirely.

* * *

May 21st

_Dean hey_

_Mary Hi. How was work?_

_Dean fine. dumbass customer hasn't changed his oil since the metazoic era and expects us to keep it from overheating every five minutes. guy's been in once a month for a year now and can't figure it out._

_Mary Mesozoic_

_Dean yeah okay mesozoic. what, are you watching jeopardy reruns AGAIN?_

_Mary It's not as much fun without my boys turning it into a contact sport but yes actually. I'm about to get in the car. Catch up later in the week?_

_...  
_

_Dean sure_

* * *

June 4th

_Dean no but there's an older omega lady who comes in all the time to get "serviced" and we couldn't figure out why she gets an oil change every month_

_Mary Until?_

_Dean until she told bobby she had to watch me do the work under the hood of her old cutlass. said she didn't trust me to use the right brake fluid but rufus almost pissed himself laughing so i think it was bullshit. guess i look mighty fine in my coveralls. must be the stitching on the name patch that really seals the deal_

_Mary That's terrible_

_Dean gonna come beat her up for me? defend my virtue?_

_Mary I'll whack her over the head with my David Attenborough bobblehead doll._

_Dean they make those???_

_Mary Surely someone does_

* * *

July 3rd

_Dean hey look i just want you to know it’s not that i don’t wanna talk to you on the phone. it's just sometimes things are easier to talk about with your thumbs instead of your voice_

_Mary That's very wise, Dean._

_Dean plus this way you can't be distracted by my plus 10 charisma and plus 1,000 physical attractiveness_

_Mary I have no idea what that means._

_Dean charlie's doing youth outreach at her church. and making me play dungeons and dragons with the pups_

_Mary Seriously?_

_Dean yep_

_Mary I can't even imagine what that would look like._

_Dean don't, it's terrifying_

_Mary Tell her I miss her. And tell her I said thanks for taking care of my son._

_Dean i will. hey look i have to say this and it's important that you take it seriously_

_Mary I'm nervous now but okay_

_Dean i love you and i need you – but all i need from you is to be what *you* need_

_Mary ?_

_Dean like if you need someone to clean the pool or detail your car or make you all-you-can-eat tacos or watch chick flicks i would like to be one of those people. and if you just need me to do that thing once every six months or whenever that's okay too – there's nothing wrong with using me for stud service every now and then, i won't be offended and i won't expect anything else because that's not fair to you_

_Mary DID YOU JUST SAY STUD SERVICE_

_Dean you know what I mean_

_Dean mom are you there?_

_Mary Sorry knocked my glass over. You're such a goof._

_Dean does that mean i can maybe visit this weekend? you and me and sam and the fireworks? srsly when was the last time you had an obscenely good burger?_

_Dean mom?_

_Mary Okay._


	10. Survivor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STILL non-con flashback. I'm sorry. We're getting back to the smut in a couple of chapters but I can't bring myself to skip this part of recovery.

Charlie leaned against the doorway to Dean’s room while he was packing for St. Augustine and basically made a nuisance of herself. Turned out she had a real talent for it.

“Dude, seriously,” he said after listening to her advice for a good half an hour. “You’re just making this take longer. I thought you wanted me out of here. Rejected alphas stink the place up, right? ” He tossed two pairs of light cotton pants in his duffel bag, athletic socks, and a pair of running shoes.

“You can’t pack those in with everything else!” she screeched. “Didn’t your mother teach you anything?” She jogged into the kitchen and grabbed plastic grocery bags to wrap around his shoes, then took up her inconvenient spot in the doorway. “And for the record, I do want you out of here. You get an alpha who’s been kicked to the curb who stinks so bad that even betas can smell it—”

“Thanks, asshole.”

“—seriously, Dorothy won’t come back until we fix this and there’s zero privacy anywhere else—then you get rejected by everyone, which makes you smell even worse, and that’s one nasty fucking feedback loop.”

“Until We fix this? Who’s this We person?” A few t-shirts got stuffed into his bag during Charlie’s diatribe, and he started on the shorts next.

“That’s us. You know what you need to do, right?” Dean made a noncommittal sound that wasn’t enough for Charlie. “Spell it out, Dean. What are you going to do to make this better? God, I’ve had better conversations with a fence post.”

Apparently something in Dean’s scent shifted noticeably, because Charlie held her nose and backed out of the room.

“Aw, man, that is so inappropriate.”

“There’s nothing appropriate about this whole situation, Chaz.”

“Well, you gotta roll it back, then. Reboot. Start from scratch. Figure out how to be with her without wanting her. Or want her differently. You know, like a son? I mean, you spent your life loving her like a son, so just turn back the clock and—”

“Charlie, I’ve felt this way about my mother most of my life. I would have to turn back into a ten-year-old.”

She fell silent at this for a moment.

“Well, fuck.”

“Yep.” He shoved his swim trunks into his bag and zipped it with a satisfying feeling of finality.

“Okay but if you spew those kinds of pheromones at her she’s gonna run screaming, dude.”

“Kinda like how I’m gonna run screaming from you in about thirty seconds.” He grabbed his bag and shouldered his way past Charlie with a quick hug. “Because so far you haven’t told me a damn thing I don’t already know. Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” Charlie hollered at his back as he fled the apartment. “And don’t forget your fucking blockers!”

He had forgotten them, but there was a mega-drugstore on the way out of town that had a decent selection. If only they had something to block her scent, he would be good to go, but so far the only viable options he and Charlie had found was a prescription medication that you couldn’t get without blood hormone tests and basically lying to a doctor, or a smear of Vicks Vaborub under his nose, which would make it pretty obvious that he couldn’t control himself enough to act like a fucking adult around his mother.

And the whole point of the trip was to a) take care of her, and b) prove that he was a goddamn adult and could behave himself just fine, thanks very much. His overactive alpha, the one who still wanted to rip his mother’s abductor to pieces and then re-establish his claim on her in the clearest possible way, would just have to go fuck himself.

An old but well-maintained CJ-7 was taking up his parking spot in the driveway of the St. Augustine house, and Dean didn’t like it one bit. He slid Baby in behind his mother’s SUV, leaving just enough room for the Jeep to pull out, grabbed his stuff, and locked the Impala behind him, taking the path at twice his normal pace.

Then Charlie’s voice echoed in his head from the conversation they’d had before he left. “Want her differently,” she’d said. “You know, like a son?” And sons—even alphas—weren’t supposed to tear doors off hinges, and they certainly weren’t supposed to fly into murderous territorial rages.

He was pretty sure that no amount of blockers would hide that kind of alpha temper.

“Dean!” His mother opened the door and threw herself into his arms, immediately answering the question of whether or not he’d be able to smell her. God. Strawberries and orange blossoms and the tangy element of sweat drying on her skin—she’d just been running, and she smelled like Pellicanus Park and…

And Lafitte. She smelled like Benny fucking Lafitte, who was strolling out of the house without a single care in the world, as though he wasn’t moments away from decapitation. The only thing that saved him was the young beta woman following him, who patted Mary on the arm in farewell.

“No, wait, you can’t go just yet,” Mary said to her. “Marissa, this is my son Dean. Dean, this is Marissa Hartwell, my part-time assistant. And you remember Benny, of course.”

“Sure,” Dean said, and he’d never been prouder of himself than when he took Benny’s hand and shook it firmly, but not like he was trying to prove something. After all, the Impala did that all on its own. “Marissa, nice to meet you. Thanks for helping out my mom.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Dean, I consider it a huge honor.” She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “Also, she’s paying me in lessons, so I’m totally getting the best part of this deal!”

Dean grinned, liking her immediately.

“All right, Rissa, let’s go before you pull a muscle flirting,” said Benny. He squinted at Dean’s parking job, obviously wondering whether he could squeeze past the Impala, but Dean jumped in before Benny could ask.

“Lemme get Baby out to give you some room,” he said, and moved his car with good grace, catching a glimpse of his mother’s smile. Soon enough the Jeep was on its way, Marissa in the driver’s seat, who was actually pretty good with the prehistoric stick shift.

“Well, that was a lovely handover,” Mary said, offering him another hug. He took it gratefully but didn’t squeeze her, for a few reasons, including his mother’s not-quite-healed shoulder, his promise to Charlie that he would behave, and that his dick might get hard from her scent and she would tell him to go the hell back to Tallahassee, which might actually kill him.

But a bigger distraction than his mother’s scent was the change in her body, which was not a little disturbing. As it had been right before the procedure was scheduled in March, her skin was pale, almost translucent, and the blue of her eyes had somehow faded, leaving them less like blue topaz and more like smoky quartz. And she’d lost weight—fifteen pounds at least.

At least the alpha propensity for nurturing omegas included feeding as well as fucking. Feeding, he could do.

“So Marissa,” he said as they went back into the house to escape the brutal Florida heat. “How does that work?”

“It’s pretty simple, really. Some days I just need company, and there are things my shoulder can’t do quite yet, according to Garth. It’s easier to have Marissa help with the physical therapy, plus she’s a pretty good cook, which is helping with the malnourishment. Yes, I know you noticed. It’s hard to miss.”

“But the shiner’s gone, and that’s a plus, right?”

“Right. And before you ask, Benny is my running partner so I can keep a routine at the park. I think we might speak maybe five words to each other during a forty-five minute run.”

And he can’t make you come, Dean thought. Only I can do that.

“Well, I’ll be here for a few days, and I brought my runners and my trunks, if you want to get out of the house for a while,” Dean said, a little worried that she might blow off the idea in favor of making him leave the next day.

She graced him with another smile that just about brought him to his knees.

“That sounds absolutely lovely. Let me jump in the shower then maybe we can hit Brandy’s?”

“I didn’t bring clothes for Brandy’s, Mom. How about I cook for a couple of days? Not that Marissa can’t, but I have a recipe for vegetable lasagna that I’ve been wanting to try out. Benny might actually have all the stuff for it.”

Mary’s mouth dropped open by an inch or two, and she reached up to touch Dean’s forehead with the back of her hand.

“Are you feeling okay? The last lasagna you made me had smoked Italian sausage and about two pounds of mozzarella. I’m a little concerned, sweetie.”

“Nah, this is Charlie’s recipe. And there’s still two pounds of mozzarella in it. Go take your shower. We gotta go to Benny’s and you know lasagna takes forever.”

“Okay.”

She cleaned up while Dean rummaged through the kitchen, taking inventory. When she came out, Dean was not at all surprised to see her wearing a blouse with three-quarter length sleeves, a pair of mid-calf capris, and plain beige Espadrilles that covered as much of her feet as possible. She’d twisted her hair into a smooth bun and wore no jewelry at all. He thought that if she could have gotten away with a burka or a nun’s habit, she might have tried.

He said nothing about it, just tossed her purse to her and headed out.

Later, Dean sent a picture of the lasagna to Sam with an appropriately vulgar caption (there was eggplant in the layers, after all). Sam was impressed, and asked for him to freeze some of it for his next visit home. Dean would have, but Mary called them both on it, insisting she would eat it over the next few days.

“Promise?” Dean said, getting ready to text Sam the final decision.

“Yes, sweetie,” she said demurely. “Promise.”

“Okay then. What’s in your Netflix queue these days? Please don’t say Planet Earth.”

After a quick kitchen clean-up and some friendly bickering, they decided on Sherlock, although Mary fell asleep after twenty minutes or so. He didn’t take it personally, especially since she’d tucked her toes under his thighs and let him cover her up with a light blanket. He didn’t want to wake her, but her bed was a lot more comfortable than the couch, and he knew it from experience.

“Hey,” he said, nudging her good shoulder. “Let’s get you into bed, young lady.”

“You’re a goofball,” she mumbled, but stood up anyway.

“That’s what they tell me.” He sat her down on the bed and found a longish nightgown that was more suited to December than June, and laid it on the bed for her to change. “Need anything else? Water, milk, tea?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you. Have I mentioned yet today how wonderful it is to see you?”

“Actually, you haven’t.”

“Oh.” She gave him a sleepy grin. “I guess it is kind of nice.”

“Aw, thanks Mom. Don’t strain yourself. Door open or closed?”

“Cracked?”

“Figures.”

“It gets stuffy when the door’s closed.”

“’Night, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you.”

He changed into his own pajamas, grabbed the pillow and blanket from his room, and stretched out on the couch as best he could. It was close enough to his mother’s room that he could hear her if she needed anything, and far enough away that she maybe wouldn’t give him grief about being overprotective. But he was an alpha, for fuck’s sake. How else was he supposed to be?

So that was Day One of the Reboot. All things considered, he thought it went pretty damn good.

* * *

They were calling for relatively cooler weather the next day, so Dean and Mary decided to take advantage of it and head to the beach in the morning after she was done with her practice session. The process took longer than it usually did, though, since Garth had insisted on the application of ice on Mary’s shoulder for at least fifteen minutes afterward, which Dean backed up in no uncertain terms.

“I’m not gonna have your PT people all over me because I messed up your routine,” he said as he doled out fresh fruit next to the pile of scrambled eggs on her plate. “Or Ellen, God forbid. Damn, these peaches are fucking amazing. Messy as hell, though.”

She’d been checking email on her tablet while he put the finishing touches on their breakfast—including sprigs of the unstoppable mint plants that were overrunning the pots on her back patio—and for just a moment, he saw her eyes snap to his hands, which were covered in peach juice and being licked clean a finger at a time. She looked back down at her email, but he’d already caught the expression on her face, the way her lips parted and her eyes got just a little wider.

He turned to the sink to wash his hands, and pretended he hadn’t seen a thing. Because that’s what Charlie would have done.

“Well, damn,” she said to her tablet. “Jesse needs to reschedule me for eleven. Can we do the beach tomorrow morning?”

“Sure. I got no plans, Mom. Don’t have to be back at the shop until Wednesday. Who’s Jesse?”

“Trauma therapist. Like Dr. B, but for super nasty stuff. Let’s see how the appointment goes, okay? Sometimes they can be a little rough.”

“I’m not surprised. I’d still like to make you dinner. Thought I’d try enchiladas, but you don’t have to eat it. I won’t mind either way. Or we could hit the pier and see if the dolphins are feeding later on today. Sunset, maybe.”

“We could,” she said. “The pier still does Chicago dogs, I think.”

He made some kind of affirmative hum and kissed her head on his way back to his room. “Sounds like a definite possibility. Oh, hey, is Marissa coming today? I don’t want to get in her way.”

“No. It’s just you and me. I thought…”

“Yeah?”

“I just think I don’t need anyone else while you’re here. Since… since my nose is working a little better.”

And that was exactly what he was hoping to hear. He was gonna send Charlie five dozen roses at the earliest possible opportunity. Part of him felt a little guilty, like he was manipulating his mother into feeling what he wanted her to feel, but another part of him knew he was just giving her the space she had asked for. It wasn’t his fault the peaches were so juicy.

Still, he was glad to be wearing the blockers. Without them, she would have known in an instant that he was desperately hoping to find his way back into her bed, and that was exactly the last thing that she needed to deal with now. He wasn’t much for making other peoples’ decisions, but he knew his mother well enough to make that one.

“Cool,” he said, trying to sound casual. Before he headed back to his room, he said, “And also, it’s really awesome to hear you play again. You sound great.”

“And you would know this how, exactly?”

“There you go again, shaming me for being a metalhead!” He kept complaining all the way down the hall, grinning like an idiot the whole way.

By the time Mary got back from her appointment, the enchiladas were prepped and ready for the oven. Mary seemed interested in food, which Dean thought was a good sign, and in leaving the house for a trip to the St. Augustine pier as well. Dean had already packed a beach bag with cold drinks, snacks, and towels, but the towels were almost dealbreakers.

“We won’t need those. I’m not swimming,” she said.

“Okay. But I’ve never seen you leave the beach with dry feet, so maybe consider this a lost cause and throw on some shorts and sandals just to be on the safe side. Go grab that swim shirt you wore when we went sailing over spring break. C’mon, I’m starving and I been thinking about hot dogs for like three hours now.”

He didn’t give her time to argue, and while she sputtered a little in protest, she went along easily enough after she’d found the shirt. Dean offered to drive the Highlander and gave her a silly grin when he saw that she was still listening to the playlist he’d sent her weeks ago.

The pier did sell Chicago dogs, which were just as satisfying and unhealthy as ever, and Dean and Mary ambled down the beach, trading one back and forth between them, killing time until the dolphins started their afternoon feed off the coast.

After a while, Mary admitted that she was tired, and Dean laid out one of the beach towels for them to sit on, making sure that he gave her several inches of breathing room. Mary wiggled her toes in the wet sand and the foam and sent him a grateful smile. They chatted idly as Mary got her strength back, then fell silent and listened to the waves.

Which got slightly louder with every surge. Dean let his mother watch the water for as long as she wanted, staying completely silent until the perfect wave came in that was just strong enough to overrun their stronghold and soak them both from the waist down.

Mary squealed adorably, like she might have done when she was seventeen, and Dean laughed so hard he fell over, soaking himself to the skin under the next wave.

“Oh my God, you were just waiting for it, Mom!”

“Dean Michael Winchester, you are an asshole!” She picked up the wet towel and whacked him with it, but as a disciplinary tool it did no good, because Dean just couldn’t stop laughing. He managed to stand up and reached for her hand.

“C’mon, Mom. You’re already soaking wet! Let’s go!”

And she did. She laughed and dropped the towel, then dove into the next deep wave and came up drenched in salt water and a little more happiness than she’d had when she woke up that morning. That, at least, was easy enough to see.

They waded in the water for a while, until they gave up on the dolphins and returned to the pier, watching the pelicans dive beak-first into the darkening ocean and listening to the gulls argue over tourists’ lunchtime scraps.

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” she said, on their way back to the parking lot. “My shoulder’s going to complain tomorrow.”

“We’ll ice it again when we get home. You’ll be okay.”

“I hope so,” she said, and Dean had a feeling she wasn’t just talking about her shoulder.

She loved the enchiladas, or said she did, and after clean-up they resumed the episode of Sherlock she’d slept through the night before. It didn’t look like she would make it much past another twenty-minute mark, but Dean couldn’t have cared less, since she stuffed a pillow between them and leaned against it, and against him, for the rest of the episode.

He texted Charlie during the last hour.

_Dean you’re a fucking genius._

_Charlie things going well?_

_D better than i had any right to expect. she’s lost a lot of weight, but she’s letting me feed her_

_C sweet! go u awesome alpha!_

_D you know what’s weird tho_

_C no but u better tell me quick_

_D it’s kinda like at the FSU wall parties when you pretend like you know how to dance even tho you’re totally clueless and then you realize you’re actually kinda doing it right and really digging it at the same time_

_C wtf_

_D i just love taking care of her. not to say that i wouldn’t sleep with her, but not now, when she’s still so vulnerable. no way no how_

_C ur a good boy my friend. that’s all i got for u 2nite because d is literally taking my pants off right the fuck now_

_D get you some_

_C gonna happen! luv_

_D luv_

He set his phone on the side table and drifted through the next few scenes, letting his hand rest on her hair, still a little rough from the ocean salt. Then he remembered why she was keeping it in that hard bun most of the time, and moved his hand to her shoulder instead. After a few more minutes, he joggled her gently, to see if he could wake her up enough to move to her bed.

“Stop,” she said with an enormous yawn. “I’m awake.”

“Barely. Ready for bed?”

“Yes. But I have to talk to you first. Otherwise I won’t be able to sleep.”

Oh, shit, he thought. And he thought things were going so well.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“I never said thank you,” she said, sitting up to face him on the sofa, holding the pillow against her chest. “For any of it, not for real. You basically saved my life, twice. And I’m so grateful.”

“Mom, you don’t have to—”

“I’m grateful, and I’m sorry. This has all been so unfair to you.”

"I respectfully disagree, Mom. This has been unfair to you, not to me."

“It put you in a position where you had to take care of me again—sexually, I mean—and as good a person as you are, you would never say no to that. Not even if you find someone else you love. Not even if you wanted pups with that person. And when that happens, you will be an amazing father.”

“Okay. Any other assumptions you’d like to make about my feelings before I tuck you into bed?”

She glared at him and then blinked herself back to normal.

“Are my assumptions so wrong?”

He laughed softly. “So wrong, Mom.” When she didn’t interrupt, he went on. “Look, if it were me needing sexual…” He coughed. “Sexual attention, for some crazy reason, would you hesitate in the slightest? If you were the only person who could help?”

“No. But I’m the one who’s supposed to take care of you anyway. You should never have to—”

“Okay, I think we’ve established that I’m not a child and at some point you, as a parent, have to accept that.”

“We’ve established no such thing.”

“All right, who’s the grown-up here?”

“That’s my point!” Mary said. “You shouldn’t have to be! You’ve done enough.”

“Mom, I’m kinda lost here as to what you need and where this conversation is going.”

“I just need for you to know I’m sorry. And that we can’t do that… stud service, whatever you called it.”

Oh. So they were having that conversation. Again.

“Honey, don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You had to know it was temporary. And you deserve a relationship that doesn’t have an expiration date.”

A suspicious lump blocked his throat and he couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Everything has an expiration date, Mom. It doesn’t mean you can’t want it. Or enjoy it. But if…” He choked again, all the confidence he’d had back in March deserting him entirely. “Would you rather be null, Mom? Would that honestly be better than being with me? Being with the person who loves you most on the entire planet?”

“It’s wrong, Dean.”

He exhaled, fast, like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Okay. Just. Let me take care of you now, okay? Mother and son. That’s all we have to be, ever. As long as I have that, I’m good.”

She seemed to accept the lie, and didn’t repeat her apology before holing up in her bedroom for the rest of the night, leaving the door cracked. Dean knew better to think of it as an invitation.

He slept on the couch again, his arms wrapped around the pillow his mother had been using as a shield, trying not to think about the future their conversation had implied. Either her mother would find a partner who could bring her to orgasm, or she would have the procedure done and run the very high risk of going null at the young age of thirty-eight. Dean wasn’t going to be that partner, even though he knew he was the best choice, so there would be jealousy and resentment involved that he would just have to suck up and deal with. Or the surgery would strip her of her personality and basically her life. She’d be a dead woman walking.

The choice was clear, for him at least. He would have to do everything in his power to find his mother another sexual partner, no matter how distant the relative might be, because the alternative—

“You _bastard!”_

His mother’s voice shattered the midnight silence, and Dean hopped off the couch and into her room without even thinking of asking permission.

“Mom! What’s wrong?”

She was sitting on the side of her bed, staring at the door to the ensuite, her eyes wild and furious. It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself, and besides, Dean didn’t abide by the rule of letting sleepwalkers or dreamers alone. He patted her firmly on the back to wake her up, and she started violently.

“John, you son-of-a-bitch, I swear to God…” Her eyelids fluttered back to normal as she realized where she was. And who she was with. “Sorry, honey, just a bad dream.”

“About Dad?”

“Yes, about your goddamned father. He…” Dean’s eyebrows tried to find a spot in his hairline to hide. As far as he knew, his parents had a fairy tale marriage, complete with a love-matched elopement against their families' wishes, the closest you could come to Romeo and Juliet without the double suicide.

Mary sighed. “Go back to bed, darling. Thanks for checking on me.”

“Can I get you anything? Water, whiskey, wine?”

She hummed something close to “no,” sleepy again, and rubbed her face against his shoulder like a cat marking a favored human. He dug his fingers into her scalp, massaging her head just the way she liked. He was rewarded with a soft moan that did not pass GO but went directly to his cock. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it.

It didn’t mean he was going to trample on the boundaries his mother had set that evening. But he would always want to.

Fuck, he thought, pressing down his erection as he left his mother’s bedroom. Some things were just never going to change.

* * *

Dean made her breakfast again after her morning practice session and sat her down at the breakfast bar to made sure she actually fed herself.

“You’re not two, and I’m not hand-feeding you, so get on it. You’ve got an appointment with Dr. B this morning, right?”

“Yes,” Mary said, “and Marissa’s coming later, around three.”

Dean froze for half a second, long enough for Mary to notice. Before he had a chance to talk, she said, “She’s coming for a lesson. But you’re only allowed to say hi afterward because you’ll distract the hell out of her otherwise. It’s okay, Dean, I still need you.” But he knew it hurt like hell to admit it.

His shoulders relaxed. “Okay. What, did you think that would distract me? Finish your eggs.”

“Bossy,” she said, but ate the eggs and was on her way shortly after.

The air conditioning in Dr. Barnes’ office was struggling to keep up with the midsummer heat, and Mary mentioned it only to put off the inevitable questions that would be sure to follow the primary one: What’s new?

“Dean’s here,” Mary said, just to get it over with.

“Is he? How has it been?”

“Not easy.”

“How so?”

“No—it, I mean in one sense it has been easy because he’s just aggressively taking care of me, and in another sense it’s been hard because I’m not smelling Berlin on him anymore. Just him. And he’s beautiful. And he smells so incredibly good. I’d hoped it would have changed. I’m not supposed to feel that way about my son.”

“Well, it’s rare for an omega to fall out of love with an alpha after they’ve been through a heat together—”

“I was not in love with my son, Pamela,” Mary said tightly.

“Sorry, to be less attached. Better?”

“Yes.”

“So what have you been up to with him here? Anything entertaining? I don’t mean that suggestively, either.”

“We’ve watching too much TV,” Mary said. “Went to the beach yesterday. I think we’re going to Pellicanus after Marissa’s lesson today.”

“Anything else?”

“No, unless you count his nonstop cooking. He’s trying to fatten me up.”

“That’s not a bad thing. He’s a caretaker, then,” Dr. Barnes said, clearly approving.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure he comes by it honestly—maybe not the cooking. He didn’t get it from John, that’s for sure.”

“No, it doesn’t sound like it.”

“I dreamed about him last night,” Mary said, trying to keep her foot from bouncing on her knee. Failing.

“About whom?”

“John. The night he told me about the Milligans.”

“Does Dean know about them?”

“Of course not. The boys have good memories of their father for the most part, and I’m not going to be the one to ruin that.”

“That’s generous,” Dr. Barnes said.

“I’d hate for them to know the truth about me, too, so it seems only fair.”

“The truth?”

“What we talked about before. The… the fantasies. And Dean, now. Which is much worse. John would have come up with another chapter of insults about my inappropriate kinks since he died.”

“Even though he took advantage of them?”

“He didn’t, though. He was disgusted. I think that’s why he fell in love with Kate. She was a blushing virgin compared to me,” Mary said, her voice dripping with self-loathing.

“You know there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a strong, sensual person, right? And every omega I’ve ever known has one or two knotting dildos somewhere in the closet.”

“Apparently I’m not every omega. My toy box puts F.A.O. Schwartz to shame.”

Dr. Barnes laughed. “I’m not surprised, Mary. You don’t do anything by halves.”

“Certainly not mortal sins. I’ve got those covered.”

“Do you feel like you’re being punished for that? For sleeping with Dean?”

“Of course I am!” Mary shot up out of her chair and started to pace around the office like a restless cat.

“I thought we agreed that it was medically necessary.”

“It wasn’t supposed to feel as good as it did.”

“But if it didn’t, it wouldn’t have been effective,” Dr. Barnes said. They’d had the conversation a few times before.

“Why are you arguing with me?”

“Because it’s horrible for you to feel ashamed about doing what you have to do to survive.”

“Pamela, I don’t even know how many people had me over the course of two days, and I never once told them no. Not once. And when my son offered to fuck me, not hours later, I agreed enthusiastically, and it was the best heat I’ve had in my life. What does that make me?”

Somehow Dr. Barnes heard the onset of tears in Mary’s voice, or maybe Mary’s scent had changed; there was no telling with Dr. B, the woman was practically psychic.

"Mary,” she said softly, “what they did was not consensual."

"I asked for it,” Mary argued. “I begged for it. I presented. I presented to a fucking beta."

“You were in heat. It doesn’t mean they had the right to take you. Okay, answer this: if you had to choose a partner for your heat, who would you pick? No, you don’t have to say, but would it have been any of your kidnappers?”

“No.”

“Then you did not consent.”

“I consented to Dean,” Mary said, her voice breaking on her son’s name.

“He’s the only person on earth who could have helped you. And I’m pretty sure he was on board with the whole idea.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“You know you’re safe here,” Dr. Barnes reminded her.

“It’s not that. It just hurts.”

“You’ve done other things that hurt before. Given birth to two not-so-little babies. Grieved for your husband. Does this hurt more?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

The fan whirred, but otherwise there was silence for a long moment.

“Why is it so important for me to talk about this?” Mary finally demanded.

“Because you’re going to have to eventually and I’d like to see you do it sooner than later. You’re at the height of your career, and you told me during your last session that you’re playing like a college student, not a goddamned virtuoso. You’re cheating yourself if you put this off.”

“You’re a shitty therapist.”

“Probably. Mary, do you know how many rape victims can’t function for months, if not years, after the assault?”

“No idea.”

“Too damn many. That’s thousands of people, omegas especially, who can’t feel whole or be a full member of the human race, because they can’t talk about their experiences to anyone, not even their closest family and friends. Some of them believe that no one wants to hear about it, about horrible things happening to people they love. And they’re right—none of us do, but we damn sure want you to say it anyway.”

“Good God, why? Why would you put yourself through that? What good would it do?”

“Because we love you, Mary. And we don’t want you to feel like you’re completely alone.”

Alone, Mary thought. When she was in that concrete room with the cold, damp mattress and the flickering fluorescent lights, surrounded by the stench of unwanted alpha come and her own rank slick, she felt most ashamed of wishing she weren’t the only omega there. That someone else would stay with her and understand. And bear witness.

If she spoke, if she told her story, she would help herself and her family, according to Pamela. But if she spoke out to more people, it might… It might help.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I’ll talk. But not today. I just have to work out how.”

“Fair. Now time’s about up and honestly I’m kinda glad because I don’t want to have to replace the carpet you’ve been wearing down for the last fifteen minutes. I have to leave you with one thing to think about until we meet again, though.”

“Oh, God. What?” Dr. Barnes’ parting shots were usually lethal.

“You are going to have to find a way to be intimate again—with Dean, most likely—or go ahead with the procedure, the bullet you dodged back in March. Risk the physical and mental problems, or find a way to move through this completely understandable physical block.”

Mary dropped into her chair, letting the reality of Dr. Barnes’ comment sink in.

“The only way out is through,” she whispered. “Who said that?”

“A few people, I think. And you, just now.” Dr. Barnes stood and took Mary’s hand gently. “Warm hands. A sign of good circulation. I like it.”

“See you Friday?”

“Yep.”

Mary texted Ellen on her way to the car. Her phone rang about three minutes later, and she pulled to the side of the road to take the call, since her hands were a little shaky.

“Ellen, I have an idea. But I’m going to need a lot of help to put it together.”

“Shoot.”

“You know how Netflix does those exposés about political corruption and bank fraud and blood diamonds and things that most people just skip in their queues because they’re boring subjects?”

“Yeah…” Ellen said, immediately suspicious.

Mary paused, feeling like she was about to jump off the high dive at the club pool.

“I have to talk to the boys about it, but I want to do one of those. Can you make that happen?”

Without hesitation, Ellen said that she could, and would, and did she have a producer in mind?


	11. Lost Omegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire begs for a favor. The Winchesters reunite in NYC for a private viewing of the documentary. Mary's given a surprising heads-up by a trusted friend.
> 
> The documentary doesn't pull punches.

Other than the housekeeper, chef, and security guard, Castiel and Claire were blissfully alone in the Novak Westchester estate, where most of the continental family would gather for Christmas in a few days’ time. The house was as good a place as any to celebrate the holiday, and better than most, since Claire could disappear into closets and small dressing rooms, under tables in the library like Margaret Dashwood, and up the rickety ladder into the attic to avoid Naomi Novak, her grandmother, who found the girl revolting and made no effort to disguise it. Castiel had several reasons for loathing his mother, and that was at the top of the list.

He was working in the study he’d taken over for the duration, but not so intently that she could sneak up on him. Before he even heard her voice, Castiel smelled Claire coming from the hall—not her personal scent, but the smell of tea and freshly baked cookies. She peeked into the room as if he might send her away, but they both knew she was always welcome.

Claire had inherited something of her mother’s nurturing instincts, and used it for nefarious purposes. This was known. After years of dedicated experimentation with food and vocal cues, she had brainwashed her father into a nearly Pavlovian response to certain dulcet tone of voice, and it was just as effective now as it ever was.

“Hi, Daddy.”

The moment Castiel heard that uncommonly sweet, soft purr, he realized he was hungry. And that she was about to ask him for something.

He was aware of the manipulation and had built up a moderate immunity to it, but he was never averse to being waited upon by his daughter, so he let it slide. She had more effective weapons in her arsenal anyway, and Castiel suspected she was about to make use of them.

“Hello, Claire.”

She crept into the room and set a tea tray down on his work table. The tray had just enough room for two tea settings, a silver teapot, cream and sugar, a spoon, and six shortbread cookies baked with so much butter that Castiel suspected they would crumble if he looked at them wrong. Claire knew damn good and well they were his favorite, so the request wasn’t a little one.

Castiel closed his laptop to demonstrate his commitment to glasnost and leaned back in his desk chair, waiting while Claire poured them both lightly steeped, fragrant Earl Grey and doctored it as he preferred, with a drop of cream and nothing else. He couldn’t help but remember how Gabriel had tried to bribe him with bourbon the last time they’d talked about the Winchesters. Hopefully this wish would be something he could actually grant.

“There’s a concert in the city in three days,” she said.

Shit. He knew the one she was talking about; his organization was deeply involved in it, and he had been hoping it wouldn’t come up in her multiple news feeds.

“And?”

“It’s a benefit for omega rights. And protection, rescue, all that. I know you know about it. Last Is First is one of the promoters, right?”

“Indeed.” He wasn’t about to make it easy for her.

“Yeah,” she said, sipping her tea with all the innocence of a rattlesnake waiting to strike. “So it’s a good cause, and it’s classical music, and you always tell me I should broaden my musical horizons, since I’m crap at instruments, so can we go?”

“No.”

“Why… why not? I’ll be safe, I won’t run off, I won’t go anywhere without you, Dad, I really want to go, please can we go?”

Oh, God. Her eyes were already shining with the beginnings of tears, and while he knew that his daughter had mastered the art of crocodile tears ages ago, he also knew that she was good at them because they were often very real. There was something else going on here, other than a sudden interest in music and philanthropy, some connection that he couldn’t see just yet, and he wasn’t in the mood to pry it out of her.

“Claire, what aren’t you telling me? Just say it, and there’s a chance we can go. If you say nothing and try to convince me without at least offering me the whole truth, we’re staying here for the duration of the holiday, and that’s final. Withholding information is just as dishonest and damaging as lying, and you know that as well as anyone else.”

She squirmed in the chair, but finally said, “Mary Winchester is playing the symphony.”

“Yes, she is.” He’d seen it on the press release, just like thousands of others had, and decided then and there that he would make his contribution online and stay as far away from that concert hall as possible. Mary Winchester would probably remember him from the debrief in the Hildegard Room, and no one wanted a memory like that to intrude on a debut. There was no need to take up valuable ticketholder seats just to spend the evening avoiding her.

“I want to meet her.”

“No.”

“Dad, why not? She’s like a rock star now, with the documentary and all the fundraisers and now the concert and I just want to get her autograph. She won’t even know who I am, she won’t know I’m related to you or even that I’m a Novak, I’ll ask her to write, ‘To Claire’ on my program and that’s all. You don’t have to meet her, we can come straight back here afterward or stay at the penthouse, if the Ancient One’s there I’ll even be polite, I promise! I don’t want to take up her time, Dad, just thirty seconds and maybe a picture if—”

“We’d have to get a VIP pass for that.” Damn it. That was just enough of a crack for her to open up. As soon as they were down to practicalities like money and travel, Claire was ahead of the game, because there was no one better at logistics than Claire Novak.

“I’ll pay for it! It can’t be more than, what, a couple thousand dollars for the both of us?”

“Do I even want to know how you’ve—Never mind, I really don’t. And it doesn’t matter. The closer we get to the Winchesters, the more Azazel and his Dimoni will—”

“Dad. No one talked to the Winchesters for months after the thing with Michael, because you told them not to. So we weren’t anywhere near them but he still took Mary.”

Like he took Hannah, Castiel thought. Just like he took Hannah.

“The logic doesn’t hold up,” she continued, relentless. “I don’t think it matters how close we are to the Winchesters—unless they’re right by our side all the time, they’re at risk. So are we. You trust me at school, right?”

“I trust you, Claire Bear. No one else.” And that was another crack. Claire Bear. The only other people who called her that since Amelia died was Gabriel and Hannah. It was a show of weakness to use the pet name. Son of a bitch. He felt control of this conversation slipping through his fingers with every second.

“So trust yourself, Dad. It’s such a little thing. Make it my Christmas present. Please?”

Her eyes were dry now, which meant she was past overt begging and well into the phase of inexorable logic. He hated it when she did that. It usually meant the conversation was over.

“Fine,” he snapped. “But we stay at the penthouse that night and come back here the next morning until Christmas Eve. You—”

“Thank you, Daddy!” Claire said, and threw her arms around him like she was six years old and he was letting her ride her first little roller coaster.

It was scary then, and it was terrifying now. And yet, they were going anyway.

* * *

_Hygge._ It was one of those words-of-the-day that Mary never thought she’d use, a notion that always seemed to be about coming in from the cold, but of course in St. Augustine it was rarely cold, unless you turned the air conditioning down too low. But a New York City winter, especially at Christmastime, was the perfect time to trot out the idea. She was surrounded by people she loved and all their comforting scents, wearing an honest-to-God plaid flannel shirt and slippers that looked more like furry woodland animals than footwear, watching at the window as ephemeral fat snowflakes fell onto 2nd Avenue and melted immediately. Ellen said it wouldn’t stick, which was just as well, given the activities planned for the next day, but a large-ish part of Mary would have been happy to be snowed in with her family for a few days, as long as they had a fully stocked kitchen and a functioning heat pump. Although she had to admit that being snowed in with Dean would come with its own set of challenges.

Adding to the general air of contentment was the rich scent of garlicky tomato sauce that had been simmering on the stove for the last two hours or so, swirling basil and bay leaf throughout the apartment, so potent that it almost masked Charlie’s approach.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve actually thanked you properly, Mrs. Winchester,” she said, taking up a spot next to Mary to watch the snowfall. “This has been, hands down, the most amazing trip ever. I mean, St. John’s Cathedral? And the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, I mean I expected it to be awesome, but woah, right? And that one place in Central Park, did you know they shot a Doctor Who episode there?”

“I didn’t know, actually. I do know that over the last two years, I’ve asked you many, many times to call me Mary, and I really don’t know why you won’t. It makes me feel old, Charlie.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry, Mrs. Win—Mary. It’s just this crush thing, and it helps to maintain some distance if I don’t—shit. See, I should have stopped talking sixty seconds ago.”

Mary looked away to hide her grin. “It’s fine, Charlie. Verbal filters usually disintegrate after two drinks, so I forgive you. We all do. And we can’t help who we like, right?”

“Right. Thanks for understanding, Mrs. Winchester. Oh, drinkies! Here you go.” She handed Mary a glass of red wine—no telling the variety, since there were several bottles open at the moment and had been since they got to town the day before and moved into their temporary lodgings on the Upper East Side. Ellen and Charlie were both fans of red wine, while Mary, Dean, and Sam couldn’t possibly have cared less.

Mary took a sip and grimaced. “Mm. Too sweet. Might have that for dessert, though. Either way, I really don’t need to be drinking much tonight.” She paused to sniff the air, trying to decide if she was scenting Charlie’s decidedly Italian aroma or the sauce, and decided it was time to check the sauce anyway.

Charlie followed her into the open kitchen like a bouncy, red-headed puppy, and happily took Mary’s glass to let her finish up the meal.

“Hey, so Dean always says you don’t cook, but you’re all over dinner. What’s that about?”

“Spaghetti sauce doesn’t count. I used to put this together in my sleep, and the only change now is what goes in it. Sam’s vegetarian, so I do meatballs on the side for Dean. Pre-cooked meatballs, sad to say, but you can’t beat Grady’s deli, so it could be worse, I guess.”

“Well, it smells fantastic.”

“A few more minutes and we’ll find out how it tastes. Can you find the boys and tell them dinner’s in fifteen? But I’ll need an extra set of hands to plate.”

“Yep.” Charlie disappeared into the hallway leading to the bedrooms where Dean had gone to catch up on school emails and Sam was probably nose-deep in his tablet, as he had been for too many hours of the trip. Mary cranked the volume on the 70s mix that Dean had set up for her earlier that day, just to get her through the last few minutes of serving.

Fresh pasta drizzled in gourmet olive oil. Bread from the oven, perfectly warm in its foil blanket. Salad waiting somewhere in the depths of the fridge. Then Moondance came on, which always got her in the groove, no matter how tense or sad she was. And at the moment, she was neither.

Her boys pounded into the kitchen and she scolded them immediately. “We’re not the only ones who live here!” she said. “Neighbors!” She pointed to the floor, and Dean and Sam actually giggled, like they were kids—which of course, they were, even though Dean had certainly proved himself a man in more ways than one over the last year.

“Dean, set the table, then I need you on bread duty. There’s a bread knife around here somewhere—”

“Got it.”

“Sam, salad, please. In the fridge, I think.” She hummed and swayed to herself, but was interrupted by her youngest son, who took the colander from her and pulled her into a silly, awkward spin.

_And all the night’s magic seems to whisper and hush_

_And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush_

_Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love_

Sam, struggling as he usually did these days with a body growing entirely too fast for its own good, got into a rhythm and they took advantage of the open kitchen for the last minute of the song, fumbling through it with so much delight that no one gave a damn about the steps, if there were any. They ended on an awkward spin-twist hybrid that would have gotten them laughed out of a middle school dance, and Mary realized that Charlie and Ellen had been working their own moves in the living room, leaving Dean as the odd man out.

And he seemed to be okay with it; still focused on her, his eyes soft, lips half-open with barefaced devotion and the beginnings of a smile. On his way back to bread duty, he squeezed her shoulders and said, “I haven’t seen you dance like that in a long time. You should do it more often.”

“I don’t have a partner, usually,” she said, resuming the plating. He rubbed her shoulders, then released them, leaving her feeling a little cold. Leaning against him would have been inappropriate, so she didn’t. But for a moment, she wanted to.

“Which brings up a question,” he murmured, quietly enough that only she heard it under the eerie opening arpeggios of _Don’t Fear the Reaper_. “And if I don’t ask now I won’t get another chance, so… It’s been over six months. If you’ve found another alpha—or anyone, really—who can give you what you need to stay healthy, I’m really pleased for you, and you don’t need to give me details about anything. But if you’re going back to Dr. Tran, I—”

“I’m not going back to Dr. Tran,” Mary said. She remembered the morning she had canceled the procedure back in March, when they had barely kept their clothes on for an hour at a time, and gave Dean a sideways smile that she had no hope of disguising. “But I’m not going to make any decisions until after the new year.” She handed him a plate of pasta and he doled out a generous spoonful of sauce, threw a handful of shaved Parmesan on top, paired it with a couple of fresh basil leaves, then set the plate on the serving board for Sam to add the salad plate.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Just don’t put yourself at risk for the sake of a number on a calendar, okay? No ticking time bombs, please.”

“Understood. I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re not in this alone, you know. Don’t forget that.” He finished dressing the last plate and gave her a quick hug with a sneaky, scenting nuzzle thrown in that he didn’t bother to hide. Charlie almost ran him down as she turned the corner into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mrs. Winchester, need any more help?”

His eyes flashing green-gold and maybe a hint of alpha crimson, Dean gave Mary a direct look that actually made her knees weak. _Do you need help, Mom? Because you know I’m right here._ She leaned back against the counter, thinking about sticky summertime peach juice on her son’s fingers, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Winchester? You look kinda flushed.”

“I’m fine, Charlie,” Mary said, grateful that Dean had disappeared. “Everything’s about ready. Why don’t you round up the rest of the herd and we’ll eat before things get cold.”

The Winchesters et al. demolished the pasta and cleaned up in plenty of time for their first viewing of Lost Omegas, Episode 1.

The sectional sofa was just big enough for the five of them, with Mary in the center of the arc, Dean and Sam on either side of her, and Charlie and Ellen serving as book-ends.

“Nervous?” Sam asked as he hit the play icon.

“Actually, yes,” Mary said. “I honestly have no idea what they did with the material.”

There had been a lot of it. Once Ellen had initiated the production (she was listed as co-producer, whatever that meant), Mary had found out everything she could about omega abductions throughout the world, and it was beyond horrific. She went to several organizations for source material, and when she told them what she was doing and why, they bent over backwards to help.

Except the more she learned, the worse she felt about it, and soon enough she was working actively with several omega rescue and rehoming organizations to bring attention to the atrocities that were happening to omegas every day, invisible to the public eye. She was performing the next evening for a thousand-dollar-a-ticket fundraiser, along with three other soloists and a symphony orchestra made up entirely of volunteers. It would be the first time she’d played to a live audience since Berlin. It helped that she was doing it for a good cause, but she was as anxious about the performance as she was about the documentary.

The episode—one of five, according to the producer—opened with a shot of Mary playing to an empty theater, and a voice-over that told the story of her abduction in stark, simple terms. Stolen. Drugged, to trigger heat. Raped repeatedly over the course of two days. Rescued from the omega playhouse by the Berlin police. Nearly died from the severity of the induced heat.

Dean and Sam both squeezed her hands. They remembered.

The film cut to a shot of Mary, standing on a dock looking out over the Atlantic Ocean, a light breeze catching her hair every now and again.

_“You ready?”_ Ellen’s voice.

_“Yep. Let’s do this. Then margaritas.”_

_“Hell, yeah!”_

“Oh, God, they used that?” Mary said.

“You said they had free rein,” Ellen said with a shrug. “They took it.”

The next shot was at a restaurant, again overlooking the Atlantic, both her and the interviewer sitting on high stools on the back deck.

_“Mrs. Winchester—”_

_“Mary, please.”_

_“We’re here to talk about rape, which you experienced first-hand quite recently.”_

_“Yes. No one wants to talk about it—God knows I didn’t—so I thought I could either sit in therapy twice a week and bite my tongue or say something and maybe… maybe just let people know they’re not alone.”_

_“People?”_

_“Yes. Women and men are both victims, of course, and in cases of omega males, the numbers are disproportionately huge because there are fewer males than females. They’re rarer, more valuable. And then the heat issue makes it harder for non-omegas to understand the whole concept of consent.”_

Mary watched herself try to explain it, as the camera zoomed in to capture her expression, which was nothing short of fierce. She’d tried to speak around the subject, but finally gave up and went directly for the kill.

_“If a person would not fuck you—or allow you to fuck them—when they’re sober and clear-headed, is it okay for you to do it when they’re not?”_

_“Well… no.”_

“Wow, Mom,” said Sam. “Language.”

“Sometimes direct is best, Sam,” Ellen said.

_“If someone is drugged or drunk, and they beg you to fuck them, is it okay for you to do it?”_

_“Of course not.”_

_“Why not? They’re asking for it, right?” Mary said, playing the devil’s advocate._

_“They’re asking, but they’re not really consenting.”_

_“And if you’re not sure whether they would allow it, is it okay for you to do it anyway?”_

_“No.”_

_“No.”_

The boys were pressed against her so close that she could almost hear their heartbeats, so she couldn’t miss it when Dean went still as a statue. He let out a cough, then a soft sigh, sounds that meant he was trying very hard not to cry. She knew it was a difficult subject, but she wasn’t sure why it would affect him so much right now. Until she remembered what he’d told her about her last heat before John died, when he’d stepped in to take care of her when his father couldn’t. According to these definitions, Dean had raped her.

She drew him even closer to her and kissed him on the forehead. “It’s okay, baby. You were trying to help. It’s okay.” He nuzzled into her shoulder, accepting her forgiveness, as if there was anything to forgive.

_“…I was actually fairly fortunate and was rescued before I got sold into a honeycomb.”_

_“A honeycomb?”_

_“Yes, it’s a cute word for a pretty gruesome place. Think of office cubicles—the walls are usually a little higher—with omegas strapped down and injected with drugs to keep them in a permanent state of heat. And used, over and over, until they’re too damaged to be used any more.”_

“Jesus,” Charlie whispered.

_“I hesitate to ask, but when you say ‘damaged,’ what do you mean?”_

_“I’m not an expert, but I’ve read the research, spoken to survivors, and the physical damage... The drugs used to induce heat can cause sterility in omegas, in repeated doses. If the heat isn’t handled properly, the fever and trauma can actually kill an omega—and let me be clear, when I say “can,” I’m not talking in hypotheticals, this happens regularly at the honeycombs and other places where omegas are used. There really needs to be another word for it. ‘Used’ is such a pathetic euphemism and ‘rape’ doesn’t really encompass the scope of the abuse.”_

The film moved to show still photos of the empty honeycomb cubicles and the benches the keepers used to immobilize the omegas, with thick plastic cuffs where the wrists and ankles would go. There were drains set into the concrete floors and discolorations underneath the benches.

The photos changed to depict bodies with injuries that were hard to look at, even for Mary, who’d already seen most of them.

_“Then some of the bodies of the victims have abrasion marks and scars from the straps and cuffs, scars from choke chains, puncture wounds from the collars with teeth on them, hair loss from the buckles of muzzles and gags, bruises from paddles, scars and fresh lacerations from belts and whips and canes—”_

The shot moved back to the beach interview.

_“Mary—”_

_“No, I’m not done yet,” she said, but there were tears in her eyes and the camera didn’t need to zoom in to pick them up. “That’s all superficial, really, until you start looking at internal damage. Obviously there’s tearing of the vaginal walls and anus, but there are times when the cervixes of smaller omegas can be bruised or sometimes torn by large alpha penises, which in turn leads to infections of the uterus. And other infections—urinary tract, bladder, even kidney infections, aren’t uncommon from lack of hygiene and the semen, urine, and sometimes feces of the users. There are some honeycombs that brand the omegas, tattoo them, and pierce them to accommodate the users’ kinks, those come—”_

Charlie burst into tears.

It took a good twenty minutes and a lot of comfort scenting to calm her down, at which point she insisted that she had to see it through.

“If I don’t finish it, I’ll have those pictures in my head for a long time, and I’m not sure I can handle that. I know you want to raise awareness of—”

“Shh,” Mary said, stroking her bright copper locks. “Don’t be silly. The only thing I want to plant in your head is hope, little alpha. I honestly didn’t expect this to be so upsetting.”

“It needs to be, Mom,” Sam said softly. “I’m sorry you got wigged out by it, Charlie, and I am too, but if shock value is what we’ve got, that’s what we use.”

“Amen, kid,” Ellen said, raising a glass of wine she’d just refilled. “Are we ready?” The group assented, and Ellen pressed play. They listened as Mary talked about unbelievable numbers of omegas who were taken every year, which even shocked the interviewer. After taking a moment to regain her composure, the woman asked Mary about her own abduction.

_“…yeah, I begged. Cried. Threw up a couple of times, because I couldn’t find my alpha, and of course that didn’t help. Climax, orgasm, they’re critical to the worth of an omega in the eyes of these people—it’s the entertainment value, and if you can get someone to come on demand it must mean they want it, right? But I don’t climax except under very specific conditions, so… Then they all said I didn’t smell right, since I’d been bonded to my alpha a couple of days before, so it would be hard to find a buyer who would pay money for a stinky, useless omega like me. Actually everything that was wrong with me bought me some time.”_

Mary had wrapped Charlie in her arms, but Dean was glued to Charlie’s other side, his hand sandwiched between both of theirs. When Mary gave his hand the lightest of squeezes, he bent his head to hers, and she knew he understood. _Thank you._

The rest of the film was about her ongoing recovery, but she guided the interviewer back to the bigger picture, which is where she’d wanted the focus to begin with.

_“…I don’t dismiss my own fear and anger and other emotions, but I know that there are omegas out there right now who are suffering more. Kids, even. There are others who need help a lot more than I do. That’s why I’m here. That’s why we’re all here.”_

The camera stayed on her face while half-exposed images of omega faces came and went. Eventually the film cut back to the dark theater and Mary playing on an empty stage, accompanied by names scrolling up the side of the screen like credits. Except they weren’t credits. They were the names of the omegas who had been killed or gone missing over the months since they had started production of the episode. There were a lot of them.

Afterward, the screen went black, and no credits rolled.

“That’s it,” Ellen said, turning off the TV. “That’s how Duma wanted to end it. The only name in the whole piece is yours, Mary.”

“I’m really sorry,” Charlie said. “This is the best puppy pile ever, but I really have to pee.”

Mary released Charlie from her embrace, which left her holding hands with Dean as Sam hugged her from behind, his nose in her neck.

She sighed. “Okay, guys, personal space please!”

“No way!” Sam grumbled.

“Hey Sam,” Dean said. “You should go help Ellen in the kitchen. She’s making cookies.”

Sam froze, then released his mother and vaulted over the back of the sofa, heading for the kitchen.

“Nicely done,” Mary said with a grin.

Dean shrugged. “What can I say? He’s a whore for cookie dough. You want coffee?”

“No, thanks,” she said, realizing that they were still holding hands. “I’m waiting on cookies then heading to bed.”

“Sounds good,” he said. He started to stand up, then changed his mind and kissed her on the forehead. “Fuck, I love you. Thank you for living through it. Thank you.” He kissed her again, and then hopped over the arm of the sofa to help Sam and Ellen, even though it only took one person to make cookies.

As she had since they had begun working together, Ellen approached difficult subjects with Mary by acting as though they’d been talking about it already, and usually bringing things up when they were doing something else.

“So as your agent,” Ellen said, bagging up cookies, “I wouldn’t interfere with your personal affairs.”

Mary recognized the technique, and it raised her hackles immediately.

“But?”

“But I don’t think you’re aware of this, and no one else is going to tell you, so I’ll do it, even though it’s not in my contract.”

Mary felt an uncomfortable sinking feeling in her belly, the same sort of feeling she got as a kid, when she was about to be busted for something, although this time she really wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong.

“Okay, shoot.”

“You know you’re preening, right?”

“Sorry?”

“Yep. Have been since the gang rolled into town. I’m pretty sure it’s not directed at Charlie, since you’re not a lesbian to my knowledge, which really only leaves the one option, you know?”

Mary went still and rewound the camera on her behavior over the last two days. Yes, she’d worn her hair down, and spent too much time running her hands through it to keep it back when a hair clip would have done the same thing more efficiently. She’d worn sparkly, dangling earrings that were meant to draw attention to her neck. Lipstick. A long skirt one day that swirled around her booted ankles and must have broadcasted her scent to anyone in a ten-foot radius, and the next day, well-fitting jeans that may have hugged her ass a little too snugly. Leaps and bounds past the nun-like outfits she’d worn after Berlin, which would have been a huge sign of progress—except that she’d only pulled out the clothes after Dean, Charlie, and Sam had made it safely to New York.

And the touching. This was harder to pin down, because she was enjoying physical contact for the first time in months, actually craving it, but she had to admit that the focus of her attention was on Dean. Laying her hands on his shoulders for just a moment, long enough to distract him from whatever he was doing, squeezing against him in the subway, even going so far as to stroke his hair, a little stiff with styling product, on her way past him to somewhere else in the apartment.

If Ellen had noticed her behavior, it was a sure bet that Dean had, too, and it may have led him to believe something that wasn’t true, that she was willing to resume a sexual liaison with him, when she absolutely wasn’t.

But if not, what the hell were the damned earrings about? And the jeans? And the handholding during the film tonight? And the little scritches on his neck to get his attention when probably she had his attention every time she walked in a room? It was no wonder he’d offered himself to her again before dinner. The miracle was that he’d offered himself, and expected nothing in return. Not even an answer.

“I hadn’t realized,” she finally said. “If he still…wants me, this couldn’t have been easy on him.”

“Oh, he does,” Ellen said. “No doubt about it. He’s wearing blockers to hide it.”

“How can you tell?”

“You can’t?”

This, coming from a beta, who usually picked up only the strongest personal scents. God, she really had been in denial, hadn’t she?

“You couldn’t have waited until after the concert to throw this at me.”

“Nope. Because you’re not one of those goddamned snowflakes who have to be walled off from life in order to play well. You play well because you’re open, exposed. The deeper you can live, Mary, the deeper your music resonates with your audiences. They—”

“Out of curiosity, how much wine have you had tonight, Ellen?”

“Fuck if I know. Normally it only takes a couple of glasses to call you on your shit. I really had to warm up to it this time.”

Mary wrapped her arms around Ellen for the first time since Berlin, and squeezed. Ellen squeaked like a mouse, and they both giggled for a moment.

Without letting go, Mary whispered into Ellen’s hair.

“What am I going to do?”

“Do what you need to do, honey. Just don’t leave your boy hanging, okay? He deserves better than that.”

“He does.”

The rest of the group barged into the kitchen at the same time, jazzed on sugar, Charlie and Sam smelling of fresh soap, and Dean smelling of nothing at all. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before.

Charlie poured a glass of wine and slid it down the counter to her, but Mary demurred.

“Nope. One’s enough for me. I have lots of people coming to hear me play tomorrow night and half of them are hoping I’ll screw up and prove that omegas are weak and can’t recover from trauma without an alpha. I see the look on your face, Dean.”

“Mom, I have nothing to do with your recovery and you know it. I make you dinner sometimes and clean the pool. Your triumphant return to the concert hall tomorrow will be due, as always, to hours of practice and natural musical genius.”

“And balls the size of elephants,” offered Charlie. “Whole elephants!”

“Ovaries, Charlie. Ovaries,” Ellen corrected.

“Of course!” Charlie said, raising her glass. “To Mary Winchester!”

“To Mary!” said the party.

“And to you,” Mary said. “All of you. I...” She felt a familiar and not terribly welcome knot in her throat, and decided that cutting it short would be better than bawling in front of everyone. “I love you. And I’m going to bed. You know I’ll be up early.”

The group grumbled at that, but no one really minded.

Trading a last glance with Dean, Mary escaped to her room and changed into soft pajamas that Dean would probably love to touch if he was given the chance. And…

Why shouldn’t he? He loved her beyond measure, obviously beyond sanity, and even if she was a little self-conscious about receiving his attentions, and a little—a lot—twitchy about the moral implications, pushing him away was cruel. He’d been so, so good to her. Surely he deserved better than what she’d given him so far.

She fell asleep thinking of the look in Dean’s eyes when he was watching her dance with Sam in the kitchen, and the light pressure of his hand when they were watching the documentary with Charlie tucked between them.

The voice of reason spoke up then, reading her the riot act as it had so many times before. _Incest is wrong. Your son needs therapy, not your cunt. You’re not worth him giving up a real life to make you happy._

Tonight, the voice of reason sounded an awful lot like her dead husband.

“Yeah, well, fuck you, John Eric Campbell,” she whispered, snuggling into the pillow with a slow smile. “Fuck you very much.”

She couldn’t wait for tomorrow.


	12. The Saj

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Mary come to an agreement.

The lobby of the Debussy Recital Hall was already crowded with concert-goers filing in to take their seats, and no one was paying attention to Dean as he appreciated his own reflection in one of the enormous glass windows facing Broadway. Dean had worn plenty of suits in his nineteen years, but this was his first tuxedo, and he wore it pretty damn well, if Ellen’s reaction to it was any indication. Still, there was nothing wrong with straightening his bow tie and brushing off a speck of dust from his shoulder. He was representing the Winchester family, so yeah, it was important to look good.

Of course Charlie caught him.

“Dude, you look totally awesome. Stare at yourself much longer, you’re gonna turn into a cute little flower.”

“Tease me much longer, Charles, and you’re never driving Baby again.”

“Aw, you wouldn’t!”

“Nah, probably not. You know you’re one of three people I’d trust to drive Baby and my brother, so it’s awesome you came. I hate driving tired.”

“Best trip ever,” Charlie whispered in his ear, as if anyone else was listening, “but for God’s sake, don’t tell Dorothy I said so.”

“I won’t. Can I send her a picture of you instead?”

“In the dress?”

“No, you idiot, naked. Yes, in the dress.”

Charlie pretended to think for a moment and then said, “Well, I suppose so. I mean, as generous as your mom’s been, it would be kinda rude not to make Dora kinda drool a little bit, right?”

“Gimme your phone,” Dean said. He took a full-length shot of her in the dress that his mother had spoiled her with a few days before, a colorful beaded slip dress that made her look a little like an Easter egg that had swallowed a flapper. A Faberge Easter egg, but still. “Spectacular. Tell her she should have come along.”

“Ha. No way do I want my girlfriend in the same room as my forbidden crush—or any other gorgeous creature I might run into.”

“Heard,” Dean said, giving Charlie her phone back. “You ready? I gotta find Sam.”

“He’s under the chandelier taking pictures of the garlands and stuff. Oo, look at that, he’s got a friend! Let’s go introduce ourselves.”

“Aw, Charlie, that’s just not fair. Don’t say anything, okay? We’ll just fly by and hand him his ticket on our way to the seats.”

Sam was indeed taking pictures beside a smaller blonde girl who looked to be about his age. Her hair was done up in stylishly mussed ponytails and she wore a knee-length pink lace number that would have been childishly adorable if she hadn’t paired it with patent leather combat boots and long black gloves. Dean approved of the boots, at least.

The girl saw Dean and Charlie coming and murmured something to Sam. She squeezed his arm, then took off up the carpeted marble stairs and disappeared into the crowd of people moving sluggishly into the concert hall.

“Okay, now I have to ask,” said Charlie, once they reached Sam. “Who was that adorable little girl in the boots to die for?”

“I… come on, they’ll be flashing the lights soon,” Sam said. “You got my ticket?”

Dean passed it to him and Sam led the way up to their assigned entrance, leaving just enough room to make talking impossible.

“Sneaky little brat,” Dean mumbled.

“You got that right,” came Ellen’s voice from a few risers below them. “Go on up, I’ll be there in a sec.”

Finally, around the time the orchestra finished tuning, the Winchesters and Ellen got settled into their box seats, and Dean decided that the time was right to tell Charlie his plans for the next day. She’d have plenty of time to object after the concert.

With no preamble, he said, “I’m heading home tomorrow, Charlie.”

She turned to stare at him, brown eyes huge.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Language,” hissed Ellen.

“Sorry. No, seriously, Dean, why? We still have things on the agenda, we’re supposed to have two more full days, and we haven’t even touched the Village, dude, you expect me to leave New York City without going to Christopher Street?”

“Okay, breathe. You and Sam can stay here and fly back when you’re ready.”

“I can’t take him to Christopher Street!”

“Drop him in a bookstore somewhere, it’ll be fine. You guys both like flying, fuck knows why, and we’ll get you awesome seats, no worries. I’ll pick you up in Orlando and have us back to Tallahassee in no time.”

“I’ll ask you again. Why? What the hell is so important in Florida that you’d leave us—and your mom—at Christmas?” She paused, and must have seen something in his face that gave him away. “It’s your mom.” He studied his hands, saying nothing, but he didn’t have to. “It’s _totally_ your mom. Did she say something? I mean, you have just been the perfect fucking gentleman for months now, I can’t imagine why she would send you away again! God, this is so unfair!”

“It’s my choice. She’s not sending me away, but I think maybe she should. I honestly can’t stand this for much longer, and I’m thinking maybe Tibet would be far enough away that I could…” But he knew he was lying, and so did Charlie. “I’m pretty good at math. I could major in astrophysics and do some time in the space station.” It had to be easier than spending every second with his mother, or thinking about her, smelling her or touching her, watching her face go pink in the cold, longing to be the one to smooth balm on her lips before they got chapped, desperate to scent every inch of her body, to taste her fingers, her neck, her—

“Easy there, little alpha, you’re stinking through your blockers,” Charlie whispered. “I get it, okay? But look, I’ve been paying attention while you’ve just been pining, and I really think you’ve got a shot. Haven’t you noticed how she’s been acting around you since we got here? Those little touches, those sweet smiles, you know when she licks her lips like that, and then, so help me, those jeans she was wearing the other day, you don’t for one second think she was wearing them for me, do you? And you remember last night when we were all curled up on that awesome sofa and you guys were doing the pup thing for me? Dude, you were totally holding hands when I left and she was starting to ramp up into full strawberry patch, and then when _I_ did her hair tonight—she looks fucking amazeballs, by the way—she was totally blank, but I bet if you—”

The house lights flickered once, twice, and then went down completely, leaving them in darkness, waiting for the first performer.

Charlie’s arguments punched him in the gut, bringing to light things that he hadn’t let himself consider or hope for in months. The fact remained that nothing in his mother’s biology had changed, and being without Dean would mean risking her life in another joyless relationship, or else having the procedure done and remaining celibate indefinitely. No matter which option she chose, she would have sent him away already.

But she said she wouldn’t make a decision for another two weeks, which would be the longest two weeks in recorded history. And whether or not she chose him, he would have to make it through Christmas and New Year’s—and the rest of this trip—without being her lover. Only her son.

It ought to be enough.

It wasn’t.

Three separate soloists took the stage while Dean was stewing, intermission came and went, and Dean barely noticed any of it until Charlie grabbed his hand and held it tightly.

“Dean. She’s on.”

He heard the clip of several steps made by his mother’s heels, and then the crowd lost its collective shit entirely, clapping like mad for a musician who hadn’t yet played a note. Dean’s stomach dropped, like he had just hurled himself out of the box seats and down onto the orchestra seats below. Sympathetic stage fright kicked in hard; it had been so long since she’d performed, and she was playing with a shoulder that had been dislocated not six months ago. He wondered if she would play to her own standards, and if she didn’t, would it fuck up the piece, and would it prove to the large proportion of assholes in the world that omegas were weak?

They were about to find out.

In a white and gold full-length gown that looked like sunlight on snow, Mary greeted the pianist and the conductor with respectful nods, then went so far as to lean down and kiss the pianist on the cheek. The younger woman smiled, as if a little embarrassed—but only a little. It was Tessa Saj, Dean suspected, who had written the piece specifically for Mary, and scored it for violin and orchestra. Just for tonight. His mother was known for working with new composers, so this was no surprise, but it still thrilled Dean to hear his mother debut pieces that had never been heard before her bow crossed a string.

He glanced at Sam and they grinned to each other, sharing the terror and excitement as they had so many times before. Ellen was beaming; there was not a shred of doubt in her mind that Mary was about to bring down the house. Charlie watched and listened like a kid at Christmas—and she was, really, all things considered.

The first movement began with a quiet oboe solo, which got sent to a French horn, who passed it off to the first violin, who let the piano dance with it for a while before Mary took over. The theme at first was light and playful, a comforting sort of pastoral tune that a college student might compose for a second-year music theory class, until Dean listened a little harder and heard a few soft, minor arpeggios that seemed almost ominous, even if they were in deep background.

His mother’s violin began the second movement with a melody that was meant to wring every drop of sympathy out of the audience, and Dean finally realized what he was listening to. Tessa Saj had written his mother’s story into a symphony. Holy shit. He glanced over to Sam to see if he’d caught on, and saw that his brother’s face was a little pale, and he’d grabbed Ellen’s hand at some point during the first movement. Yep.

It was hard to listen to the second movement, knowing that it was meant to convey his father’s death, and then his mother’s loss of sexual power, the threat of nullity creeping in as the music became somehow flatter, the intervals lifeless and weak, even over soft, rhythmic violas that he was sure were the waves of the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of St. Augustine.

Then all the other instruments fell away, leaving his mother to sustain a melancholy low note that seemed impossible to hold, although Dean had heard his mother hold longer ones faultlessly. A wind instrument came in on the same pitch, almost indistinguishable from Mary’s sostenuto, and somehow managed to get underneath the note and nudge hers upward in a reluctant waltzy counterpoint that evolved into an outright seduction.

He was listening to himself, rendered in bass clarinet, making love to his mother.

He was going to buy Tessa Saj five dozen fucking roses for this.

Eventually the bass clarinet and the rest of the orchestra went silent and let Mary take over, indulging in a solo cadenza that whirled through the concert hall like a… well, like an orgasm.

He was not surprised that he was halfway hard in his tuxedo pants. And he wasn’t the only one. Charlie’s scent had turned deep and rich, like a stew made with bay leaves and half a gallon of burgundy wine, and the concert hall was beginning to smell like a confectioner’s shop, half the omegas oozing sugar and caramel through their pores, and the alphas responding to them like roasting marshmallows around a crater-sized campfire.

Dean doubted the musical directors had considered this possibility when staging the symphony.

He found himself dreading the fourth movement, which would probably be Berlin. He was proved right almost immediately, as the first violinist gave Mary a break and sauntered through the opening theme, which was mighty similar to the one that held the first movement together, the light, youthful melody that wasn’t his mother anymore, not after what they had just witnessed. Probably the student, he thought, the one Mary had saved from abduction that day. Pretty soon they would hear things go sideways.

The trombones began in the background and ripped the lead away from the first violin. Mary jumped in and fought for it, struggling against the brass with the help of some manic second violins and very determined upper woodwinds, but eventually it was Mary again, on her own, fighting for the melody she’d shared with the bass clarinet, which just refused to resolve into any recognizable chord. It was frustrating to listen to, and Dean knew why: his mother had been in the depths of a dangerous heat, and there had been only one person who could bring her out of it.

The whole orchestra was engaged now, trombones and tubas growling at the strings until the snare drums cut in with what Dean knew to be gunshots. Then the tympani again. Then silence.

When the clarinets and cellos began the fifth movement, Dean felt Charlie slip her hand in his and squeeze; she knew what was happening. Sure enough, the bass clarinet stepped up again with a glorious solo that would make any clarinetist take up the bass just to have a chance at it. Sweet and sexy, maybe a little too innocent to contend with the violin’s lines, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck his mother had told this Saj chick because, damn, it was awfully close for comfort.

The first violin crept into the melody and took it over so slowly and delicately that Dean almost didn’t notice, until Mary had hijacked it with an aggression that he’d only seen once or twice, like the day she’d rolled him over and sunk down onto his cock with not a thought about whether he wanted her on top, when—

Charlie squeezed his hand so hard it hurt, and then glared at him, her own face flushed and a little too shiny, like she’d been sweating. Damn, it was a good thing they were in a box seat. Any nearby alphas or omegas would have known immediately what was going on in his head, not to mention his pants. He tried to get a closer look at the orchestra itself, to see if anyone there understood what it was about, and then his mother flew into the conclusion of the symphony, bringing the rest of the orchestra along for the ride, and there was no doubt in his mind that they were all on board, or else faking it really well. As one, they spiraled up, following Mary, then caught her, joined her, and finished on one spectacular chord that damn near took his breath away.

The audience, even silent, was bursting with anticipation and eagerness—the piece deserved a standing O, but if they started clapping, the symphony (which would be known later as Saj Symphony #1) would really and truly be over, and no one seemed to want that.

Until Sam stood up and started to clap. It triggered an avalanche of applause, prompting the usual accolades and acknowledgments to the conductor, to Mary, to the composer, and to the three other soloists who joined her on stage for the final bows. All five received huge bouquets from young girls in severely cut black gowns, and while the audience was still on its feet, the soloists bowed one last time and left the stage.

As the house lights came on, Dean leaned over to his box mates and said, “I gotta go. I’ll see you in the lobby. Sam, keep an eye on Charles, will you? There might be an open bar, she’ll need a babysitter.”

He didn’t wait for them to reply, but barreled out of the box and elbowed his way down the stairs to the lobby, then down yet another set of stairs to the inner sanctum of green rooms and dressing rooms. A security guard stopped him as he entered the main hallway, but a Winchester I.D. card and Dean’s best manners were enough to let him through. Also he was on the list. He stopped the first musicians he could find for directions to his mother’s dressing room, but none of them seemed to know where she was or even if she was on that floor.

Dean thanked them anyway and kept moving, checking names on doorplates, finally reaching the one he was looking for: M. Winchester. He felt a thrill of excitement at the name, as he always did, but remembered his manners, again, and knocked on the door instead of barging in.

“C’m in!” his mother called, and he opened the door to find her in a low-lit room, sitting on a velvet-covered chaise lounge, her head down, holding hands with the composer, Tessa Saj. Saj had one hand on Mary’s neck, which raised Dean’s hackles immediately until he took a good sniff of the room. Both omegas. No alpha threats here.

Mary raised her head and smiled. “Told you he’d be the first one here,” she said to Tessa. “Any bloodshed on the way down?”

“No, actually, I was on my best behavior,” he said, trying to be nonchalant, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could do it before he succumbed to the desperate urge to kiss her. She’d been gorgeous on stage, and up close she was stunning; her face rosy, her makeup perfect despite having been sorely tested over the last forty-five minutes, and the white and gold gown made her look quite literally divine. “You were fucking amazing. And you’re fucking brilliant,” he said to Saj. “Because damn. I mean, just. Wow.”

Tessa laughed, delighted at the inarticulate compliment, her dark eyes gleaming. “I’ll leave you to dote on your mother, then. She’s totally earned it. It was lovely to meet you, Dean. I hope we get a chance to hang out upstairs tonight, if you’re staying for the reception.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dean said, but he was looking at his mother, not the composer. He heard the door close, and they were alone together for the first time since he had come to New York.

“You’re calm,” he said. “I didn’t think you would be, after that.”

“Is this calm?” She held out her hand and he saw that it was trembling, like the rest of her. He held it gently and kissed her fingers without asking permission, feeling like he was in some kind of trance. Ray Bradbury never thought of this, he’d bet, but it sure was starting to feel like the Twilight Zone.

“You’re fine,” he said. “Just a lot of adrenalin. We’ll get you home, get you boozed up, you’ll feel a lot better.”

“Can’t. Got a wardrobe change, then schmoozing with a dozen or so high rollers—there may be more by now—”

“After what just happened on that stage? There’ll be a dozen more, at least. The Omega rescue folks have got to be just wetting themselves. Do you need help? Dressing, I mean.” He knelt at her feet and took off her satin slippers, massaging her feet for a moment or two. She didn’t resist, but laid her hands on his head and ran her short nails down the back of his skull. It felt amazing.

“You’re always so sweet to me,” she said. “You know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I’d be rotting away in Florida like a beached whale, like—”

“Mom, please stop,” Dean said, resting his forehead on her silk-clad knee, not daring to look at her. “You don’t have to keep thanking me. It was my pleasure, and I think you know that by now.”

“I think I do.” She took a short breath, then cradled his face in her hands. “I do need help, baby. For now, I just need to…” She stood up and faced the mirror, blinking at him as he stood up behind her. “I need to get out of this dress. Carefully, because Ellen said something about auctioning it off if the symphony was well-received.”

“Yeah, I think you can take that to the bank, Mom. So…” He inspected the waist and found columns of pearl buttons under the arms and on one side, a zipper buried beneath them. “Well, fuck. My fingers are way too big to undo this shit, Mom.”

“Just try,” she said, her voice a little darker than it had been. “I’ll get Ellen to do it if you’re that worried about it.”

“No way.” This might be the only chance he would have to get close to her for a while; he wasn’t wasting it. “Here, raise your arm.” He lifted her left arm and draped it over her head to get it out of the way, tracing the line of her ribcage down to her waist with his fingertips. Once he got started, the buttons weren’t as bad as he’d thought, just loops of stretchy gold ribbon that held the pearls in place. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if he hadn’t started to smell strawberries halfway down. Goddamn it, that was just not fair.

His cock didn’t seem to give two shits about fair. It just wanted to be inside her, right now, so when he unzipped the dress to let her out, and saw the white satin bustier underneath, a tiny groan escaped him that was not, absolutely not, a fucking whimper. His head fell onto her bare shoulder, right where her mating scar was, and he realized he was scenting her, even though he hadn’t meant to do it.

But she wasn’t pushing him away. Encouraged, he nuzzled the mark his father had left as though trying to erase it, and felt her shiver under his touch. In the mirror, he saw that her eyes were closed, her lips parted and relaxed. She let her head drop back against his chest, tilting her head, exposing her neck to him in a gesture that could mean only one thing. And still, he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her, couldn’t risk the rejection. It might kill him if she told him to leave.

“How many hairpins did it take Charlie to make your hair stay like that for five hours?”

She opened her eyes and smiled, gazing at him in the mirror as though he was the only person in the world—as though she had to struggle to remember who Charlie was.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I wasn’t counting.”

“Let’s find out,” he said, and began picking hairpins out of the stylish messy twist Charlie had created out of his mother’s long, dark gold hair. He didn’t count, either. Every pin he added to the small pile on the dressing table allowed another lock of hair to tumble to her shoulders, despite the generous amount of styling products Charlie had used. Every lock of hair made him that much harder, and by the time he had reached the initial ponytail holders, he thought he could probably come just by running his hands through her hair.

Why he was tormenting himself, he didn’t know. But if he was going to leave tomorrow, he was damned sure going to take some sweet memories with him.

“Charlie’s going to kill me,” his mother said.

“Send me out first,” Dean said, barely able to speak. “Chum before a shark. She’ll know who to blame.” He pulled the clear bands out carefully and then smoothed down her hair, which had gotten several inches longer over the summer and fall. It took a lot of willpower to keep from wrapping her hair around his fist, pulling her head back, and kissing her senseless.

She turned in his arms and leaned back against the dressing table, eyeing him steadily.

“See something you like?”

“Oh, God, Mom, you have no fucking idea.”

“I think I do.” She started to slither out of the dress, but as much as he wanted to see the rest of her, he looked away before the dress could get much lower than her breasts.

“Stop,” he whispered. “I can’t… it’s too much. I can’t do this. It’s not—”

“Of course,” she said, readjusting the bodice of the gown and zipping the side back up. “Good. It’s better. Boundaries, of course, you’re absolutely right.” She went for her purse and dug around for her phone. “Ellen can help with the rest; she loves to play dress-up anyway.” Her voice was off somehow, like the highest violin string tuned too tightly.

Dean sat on the chaise lounge and let his head fall into his hands, swallowing a sob, unable to believe what he had to say next. He waited until she finished her conversation with Ellen and then stumbled over the words, but got them out anyway.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Dean said. The statement came out bald and ruthless, even though he didn’t mean it that way. “I’m gonna leave Sam and Charlie up here so you can do your touristy things and they can fly back in a couple days. So I’ll just leave you alone to make whatever decision you need to make, and that’s for the best. I mean, not like forever, but… I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be around you and just. Want. All the time.”

Mary made a soft, choked noise that was so much like the sounds she made with his cock in her mouth that said cock actually twitched, begging for attention. She fumbled for her phone and shot off a quick text, then tossed it back into her purse.

“Mom. Just say it. We need to get this over with.”

“Yes. We do. But I can’t… no, I’ll say it anyway. I don’t want you to leave. I won’t stop you, but if you leave New York thinking I don’t want you, you’re an idiot. Apparently I am, too.”

He didn’t dare look at her.

“It’s this constant ache, Dean. In Berlin, I felt closer to you than to anyone else in my life, ever, and then we separated—I know, I asked you to go—and when you came home to visit, even overnight, even for a few hours, I felt that pull again, and I have ever since. If I get the procedure done, I’m sure that will go away. But I don’t want it to go away. I want to be with you for as long as I can be. It can’t possibly end well—you should find someone to mate with, and have pups with, but right now, this moment… I want you. And I think you want me.”

He heard the grating sound of the zipper again, and couldn’t breathe. She was saying the words he’d heard in his head for months, I want to be with you, and it hit him like a roundhouse punch that made him a little dizzy.

The unmistakable swish of a satin dress floating to the floor forced his eyes open—fuck, there was no way he was missing one second of this—and his mother stood before him, eyes wide and terribly vulnerable, wearing only the white bustier and of course, fucking white silk panties with just enough lace to bring his erection back to full staff.

She was watching him, waiting for his response, her dark pink lips parted in what looked like ten kinds of anticipation, and at least one of them was terror.

He stood and helped her step out of the gown, then pulled her to him, hard, and held her tight. He thought she might object, given her experiences in Berlin, but it didn’t seem to bother her. By the way she wound her arms around his neck, and the sweet, luscious scent of her slick, she seemed to like it. A lot.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, breathing in her soft whimper. No telling how long it lasted, he was making up for months of lost time, and she melted into it, their tongues sliding into hot mouths, hands roaming into tuxedo trousers and panties, wetness between her legs and hardness between his.

He pulled her head back like he’d wanted to just minutes before and held her gaze to his.

“Are you going to send me away again?” He tried not to sound like a five-year-old when he said it, but he’d been hurt plenty over the last year. Given that she was basically offering herself to him, it was stupid to ask the question, but as a matter of self-preservation…

“Maybe,” she said, unbuttoning his fly. “I reserve the right to dismiss any of my lovers who turn into assholes.” She knelt in front of him and slid his trousers down to his hips, pulling his cock out to brush against her lips.

“Okay, how about I don’t do that, then?” he said, only slightly embarrassed by the high-pitched catch in his voice.

“Good idea.” She settled her hands on his ribcage and said nothing more for several minutes, since her mouth was full of him, sucking as close to his root as she’d ever gone before, licking along his length with her whole tongue, circling the base where his knot was trying to engorge despite his best efforts to stop it, curling it around the tip until he groaned. She sucked hard there, enveloping him with soft, firm lips, until his deepest ab muscles contracted involuntarily. If she didn’t lay off him right the fuck now, he was going to blow all over her face, and while that possibility was enough to make his balls twitch and tighten, he wasn’t about to come before she did. He could—and did—jack himself to completion on a regular basis, but she couldn’t have come since the hospital in Berlin. So she would go first if it killed him.

She trailed her fingers down his stomach and hips to brush the curves of his balls, then rolled them gently in one hand while she swallowed his cock at the same time.

“Mom, you can’t… stop, I wanna…”

She pulled off him with a soft pop and grinned. “You keep saying that. But I don’t think you mean it. Do you?”

“Fuck, no, of course I—oh God.” While he’d been babbling, she had licked his scrotum up one side, around, and down the other like it was a fucking ice cream cone. Those perfect, agile fingers held his balls in place so she could suck a testicle into her mouth and tongue it in a lazy circle, while somehow another finger stroked the hairless skin of his perineum, and if she put her mouth on his cock again he knew he would shoot his load straight down her gorgeous throat.

Nope. He was a big boy. He could do this. He held her head and pulled out of her mouth, gasping at the cool air on his wet, overheated skin.

He pulled her up and shucked his trousers down to his feet, then sat on the chaise lounge and grabbed at her soaked panties. But he had absolutely no fine motor skills left; she would have to get the underwear off herself. She did, with a dark expression that didn’t at all match the bridal innocence of the white bustier, but he didn’t give a shit about lingerie, he just needed to feel her coming around him right the fuck now. She was ready for him; that much was obvious from the gleam of slick between her thighs and the way she mounted him, so gracefully, as though her body knew exactly where it needed to go to get him inside her.

“You first, Mom.”

She sank down onto him, surrounding him with impossibly tight heat, and then went still. Through the haze of his lust, Dean wondered if she was about to back out, if it was just too much.

Then he felt her hips, rocking back and forth in small, subtle movements, massaging his cock with the subtle texture of her wet pussy.

“Shit,” he whispered, squeezing her ass with both hands, trying to make her fuck him harder. “You’re gonna kill me.” She leaned against him and buried her head in his neck, scenting him properly for the first time since Berlin. He was pretty sure his blockers had been useless for a couple of hours at least.

“You know,”—she swayed against him, hardly able to make words— “this makes me… a terrible mother, Dean.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll call social services, first chance I get. God, please just fuck me, please…”

“So sweet when you beg,” she said, and obliged him by lifting her hips up and slamming herself back down on his cock. He didn’t have to tell her to rub her clit; she was on that immediately, and he felt her quake around him the closer she got to her climax. He’d missed that heat, he missed the curve of her waist, the crazy soft skin of her back, the bounce and jiggle of her ass on his cock as she fucked down onto him.

“C’mon, Mom. Give it to me. Come for me. Wanna feel it, yeah, squeeze my cock, drip your fucking slick all over my balls—”

She grabbed his hand and slapped it over her mouth to muffle the sound of her crying out when she reached her climax, and he wished she’d taken off the bustier so he could have touched her nipples; they always got so fucking hard when she came.

She didn’t spend long floating on her own orgasmic cloud, but set her hands on the back of the chaise lounge and began fucking him properly, her rocking movement now stroking his whole cock from root to tip, spilling filthy encouragement into his ear.

“It’s your turn, baby. You’ve waited long enough, please I want you to come inside me, shoot all that sweet alpha come so deep, you’re so deep baby, just, oh God, we can’t, you can’t knot me baby, I wish, but soon you’ll give me that big fat knot, right? You’ll just keep coming all up inside me over and over ‘til I feel your come dripping out of me, baby we’re gonna make such a fucking mess together…”

Dean managed to hold back his groan at the last second. He pulled out by an inch or two, so his dick wouldn’t insist on popping the knot, but it was pretty close for a moment as his whole lower body turned inside out to fill her with what felt like gallons of come, shuddering beneath her even as her body went soft and boneless.

There was a clock on the wall in the dressing room, and all he heard for a full minute was the sound of its ticking and his mother’s breath slowing down, evening out.

“You can’t go to sleep, Mom,” he murmured, but couldn’t stop himself from stroking her hair, which wasn’t going to help her get back in the game. “C’mon. You have to wake up.”

“Mmm. Nope. Not interested.”

The sound of the dressing room door opening—fuck, why hadn’t they locked it?—woke them both up, and Dean felt his mother’s legs crush his hips so hard it hurt, but he didn’t blame her. The door closed immediately, leaving Dean with a glimpse of a penguin suit topped by a head of dark hair, and that was all.

“Dean, who was that?”

“I don’t know. But they didn’t see anything. Don’t worry about it. Hey, are there any towels in here? Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Cleaned up. Okay. But I’ve missed you.” She kissed him one more time, slipping her tongue into his mouth to remind him what it could do, then swung her leg around and stood, careful of the dress.

“Yeah, I think I kinda missed you, too,” said Dean, putting himself back together. Once he’d managed to wipe himself down with paper towels and make his tuxedo more or less presentable, he shook out her concert gown and hung it up on the wardrobe rack where the next gown waited. “It’s okay. They’ll dry clean it anyway, right?”

“Yes. Although I’m not sure what they’re going to do about the furniture.” Mary nodded at the chaise lounge and Dean grimaced at the mess. “I think they have mostly betas on the housekeeping staff. So that’s something.”

“Well, tell them you spilled soap or perfume or something,” he said, wetting down a washcloth in the bathroom sink. “You smell so damned good, it’s totally believable. Stand still, let me clean you up.”

She sighed. “If you must.”

“I definitely must. You have schmoozing to do.” He tidied her up as best he could without a shower, then started to unhook the bustier, trying to think about anything but dark pink nipples and how he ought to be sucking one of them. He could easily have laid her back down and taken her twice more before they went back upstairs. To prevent further depravities, he wrapped her in a light dressing gown and tied the sash, finishing it with a chaste kiss on her still swollen lips. “Yeah, I think we’ll be all right. But that guy. What the hell? Is there someone else on this list I don’t know about?”

“I don’t think so. He was probably looking for someone else. It’ll be fine,” she said, although he knew she was lying at least a little bit. It was one thing for an omega to be caught having sex, but if Mary Winchester was discovered fucking her own son it would pretty much prove that omegas were cock-hungry sluts and deserved to be treated like sex objects. Which was exactly what she was trying to stop.

“You’re in a tuxedo, just like a hundred other men here. Unless we start necking in the autograph line, no one will know you were the person helping me defile that sofa. Not even our unwelcome visitor.”

He watched her put her hair into a simple twist that somehow managed to stay in place without any pins or spray whatsoever.

“Okay. Maybe Charlie will have some more blockers. At least I won’t smell like I’ve been—”

“Defiling the sofa?” She grinned and bit the side of her lower lip, which made her look about fifteen years old, and every bit the tease she probably had been back then. “Better wash your face and hands, too, baby. Then go on up and find your brother. Ellen will be here soon, and we shouldn’t walk in together. Just in case.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She sighed. “God, that really shouldn’t be so hot.” She leaned over the dressing room table to do reapply her lipstick, and while she wasn’t exactly presenting her ass to him, it was close enough that his dick just refused to stay on the bench.

He washed his face and hands as told, then cried mercy and left for the reception. If he was alone with her for much longer they’d never make the party.


	13. Castiel meets the Winchesters

After the final chords had thundered through the concert hall and the musicians had taken their well-deserved bows, Castiel Novak elbowed his way through a throng of overly perfumed bodies, looking for his daughter. More specifically, he was looking for her backside, which he was going to vigorously thrash once he got hold of her in a more private location.

He wouldn’t, of course, but he sorely wanted to.

Because by the time that astonishing symphony ended and Castiel dragged himself back to reality, his daughter had vanished, and there was no telling how long she had been gone. Several heartfelt profanities tore down the velvet curtain of etiquette he usually adopted for these events, which made it easier to carve a path through the hundred or so jam-packed shoulders that were blocking the lobby.

He told himself that probably she’d been plotting something for weeks, if not months, and this sort of behavior meant it was just coming to a head. Probably she’d found a way to sneak backstage and load her program with as many autographs as she could get—she had a way with names and faces that was uncanny, even for a Novak. _Probably_ she’d wiggled her way into the musicians’ halls and was poking around in dressing rooms and being all sorts of rude to the performers without even knowing it.

But maybe not. Maybe she’d been taken, like Hannah had been, and he wouldn’t even know she was gone until she was already dead.

He should never have brought her to New York.

Castiel wasn’t a short man, so it wasn’t difficult to look over the heads of the people around him; it was, however, a hell of a challenge to find a small blonde in the crowd. He was reluctantly grateful to see his daughter slipping through walls of tuxedos towards him, too excited for her own good, never mind the good of everyone else. Manic as she was that night, she just didn’t give a shit about stepping on toes.

“I got in, Dad, I got in! My friend from school got me on the list, and you’re on it, too, so see that hallway right down there? Yeah, that goes straight to the performers’ dressing rooms and there’s a super awesome bathroom too, I think it was the second left, then the third door on the right, and there’s a sign on Mary Winchester’s door, so you can totally avoid her! I gotta find Sam—Samantha—love you, Dad, this is awesome!” She kissed him on the cheek and was eaten by the crowd in the blink of an eye.

Castiel shot a quick text to Tamiel about his general ineptitude for guarding people if those people kept disappearing, and received a long one in return that said, _“The Spawn left the seat beside you at 9:46, seven minutes before the end of the Symphony. I followed her to the dressing room hallways and she met me coming back in two minutes and twenty-eight seconds. She would not answer when I asked what she was doing. She met you, blew you off, and is now going backstage with her program in hand, presumably to beg for autographs. Shall I continue to text a narrative of her activities or would you prefer me to actually keep eyes on her, which is, as far as I know, what I’m supposed to be doing?”_

Castiel sent a curt response that he felt sure would be taken in the right spirit, and followed his daughter’s directions. He really could use a bathroom, not to mention a moment of quiet solitude before he dragged Claire back to the penthouse and locked her in her room for the next twenty years. It would be a long wait for a drink at the bar, but five minutes alone in a performers’ lounge might work just as well.

He gave his name to the truly enormous security guard who kept the guest list for the performers’ hallways. He was a little surprised that his name was actually on said list; it was the kind of thing that Claire would lie about just to laugh at him later. He made his way deeper into the labyrinth below the concert hall, dodging a steady stream of musicians, and followed his daughter’s directions, until he turned the second corner and got knocked back by a wave of fragrance so powerful it almost brought him to his knees.

The scent was glorious, impossibly sweet and smoky and luscious, and it made him feel light-headed and stupid, like the first time he’d gone scuba diving and Gabriel had dared him to go just a few meters deeper, and then a few meters beyond that, until his ass of a brother had to pull him up by his safety harness because he was so useless he couldn’t move, not even to kick his legs.

Just like that day off the coast of Marseilles, Castiel couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. The scent washed over him, flooding him with feelings and memories that he couldn’t quite identify: a bottle of dark rum shared around a campfire with precious friends long dead, sipping from a paper cup of hot spiked apple cider, intoxicated by booze and the promise of warm, wet sex deep in the forest later on.

Rationality slipped away as he stood in the busy corridor, unable to move but at the same time desperate to chase the source of that aroma, to rub his face in it, bathe in it, and as soon as possible, five minutes ago, please and thank you NOW.

He couldn’t pin down the designation; was this an alpha or an omega? Could be a beta, but he’d never smelled one that potent, and didn’t care one way or the other, he just knew he had to get closer, had to lick that scent off whatever neck was flooding the air with it.

His cock hadn’t been this hard in years. Maybe not ever.

He moved down the hallway, counting doors, wondering if Claire had meant to include smaller spaces like closets, or if... The scent intensified in front of one of the doors, like he’d walked into a house where dinner had just come out of the oven. This was it. A sign said "Restrooms," and he couldn't believe his luck, that whoever he needed so badly was right in front of him, in a relatively private room, so he pushed the door open, not even thinking about knocking.

It wasn’t a restroom.

It was a dressing room, with two people in it who had evidently just been fucking, because the mostly naked woman was draped over the man, who had his hands in her hair and his trousers shucked all the way down to his shoes. In the scant second that Castiel was watching, the man rolled his hips, making the pearly white come he’d just spurted into the woman drip down onto his already wet sac. Castiel thought that if he could lick that come from their joined bodies he would die a very happy man.

He didn't run—not quite—but it was a damned close thing. He shut the door and was halfway down the hall in seconds.

The first item on the agenda was to find that goddamned bathroom and do something about the unbearable erection currently threatening to split his trousers. Beside himself with hunger and tormented by the ache between his legs, he grabbed the arm of a person in orchestral black and asked for directions, was pointed towards the end of the hallway, strode confidently to it and threw open the door, to find yet another musician washing up. He had no time to wait on her.

"Out," he said, and she ducked out of the room, as most people did when confronted by Castiel's dominant voice. He wasn't an alpha, but at times like these you could hardly tell the difference.

There was no lock on the door, but one of the two high-backed chairs next to the small side table would have to serve as a barrier, or at least an early warning signal, because the last thing Castiel needed was to be caught with his trousers down, jacking his cock, trying to keep slick from pouring down his legs. Jesus, being an omega was a pain in the ass.

He grabbed a pile of neatly folded paper towels and locked himself in one of the stalls. He shoved the towels between his ass cheeks, hoping they were more absorbent than they seemed to be, and held the rest of them under his cock to catch the ejaculate that was already spilling out as pre-come. Smeared around the head, the clear liquid lubricated his cock perfectly, which made stroking himself that much easier. He tightened his grip and jerked himself with hard, almost painful strokes, bringing his orgasm so fast that when he came into the paper towels he’d readied, his knees buckled and a wave of dizziness dragged him to the floor.

Humiliated by his utter lack of control, he slumped against the partition and let his heartbeat slow to a less frantic pace. He risked discovery by emerging from the stall, but it couldn't be helped; he needed the sink, and another mile-high stack of paper towels.

He did his best to clean up, but the problem was he was still at least half-hard, and until he knew who the couple was in that dressing room, he wouldn’t be able to get the smell out of his head. He couldn’t very well go back and knock on the door—they might not even be done with each other, although the evidence suggested they were. The woman had been folded over the man’s shoulders like a blanket, boneless and utterly relaxed, and even when the man had lifted his hips to push inside her another inch, the sound she made wasn’t so much arousal as perfect consummation.

He widened the radius of his memory to encompass the rest of the room, searching for clues. The man seemed tall, even sitting down, his knobby-kneed legs fuzzy with apricot-hued hair. Black socks, patent leather shoes. And—

And the biggest clue of all had been staring him right in the face.

Castiel wasn't as fascinated with clothes as Claire was (she would spend hours deconstructing the gowns at the Oscars, and the Met Gala seemed to take a week out of her life every year) but he'd just seen the last symphony, and he knew that the mass of gold and white fabric on the dressing room floor could only belong to one performer.

Mary Winchester.

"Goddamn it. Goddamn it to hell," he hissed.

He'd been set up. Claire couldn’t have known about the alpha in the room—she was mischievous and scheming, but rarely cruel, and she wouldn’t have thrown her father at Mary Winchester unless there had been some chance of connection, despite the male/female omega taboo. Maybe she was just trying to encourage scenting, which would only happen in private.

God. He hadn’t wanted the woman to see him offstage, except as the background companion of a girl who’d come for an autograph, but now… now the mere thought of scenting Mary Winchester, that sweet aroma of something fruity, baked in pastry and just pulled from the oven, was enough to bring his cock back to full mast yet again. And damn, the alpha. That was the smoky, evergreen layer to the scent, had to be. Together, they were a mated pair, no doubt about it. It was insane—he had been attracted to other people's scents before, of course, but not to this degree, not even to Amelia's spicy peppery cinnamon. And never by two, blended into one. It was an impending disaster—lusting for a mated pair? There would never be any place for him.

Still, even though Mrs. Winchester obviously didn’t need Castiel as a lover, she might want him and Claire as part of her family, given the connection between the Novaks and her late husband. Castiel's work lined up perfectly with hers—omega rescue alliances and resources were needed all over the world, and while it had been too late for his sister, there were hundreds of thousands of other omegas in danger. And despite all the company Claire had at her private school, she suffered from profound loneliness, and if he could give her a few more family members, it would be worth pining over two of them.

He sat down heavily on the chair he'd pushed against the door, unwilling to let anyone come in just yet, not until he was finished digging through the memory that was trying to get his attention. The last time he'd seen his sister Hannah, she had been dancing at a cousin's wedding, and she'd gotten him to waltz with one of the omega bridesmaids, who had no interest in him, since the male/female omega taboo was strongly observed in the south of France, as it was in seventy-five percent of the world, civilized or not.

“Castiel, what happens in the next two hours is hardly a drop in the ocean of your life, and you know it. You’re reasonably attractive, you smell nice—for my brother—and you’re not a bad dancer.” He was an excellent dancer, actually, but only because she’d taught him. “Who cares if you have a future with her? Go dance with her and make her want you anyway. It’s her loss if she misses the boat.”

In the end, he had danced with the bridesmaid, but she’d smelled off to him and there was no point in trying to get under her skirts when he was fighting her smell and the taboo as well. He wasn’t that desperate for sex.

He didn’t think he was desperate now, either, except the trashcan full of soaked paper towels said otherwise.

A knock sounded at the door, and an unfamiliar voice said, “Excuse me, are you all right? Can I call someone for you?”

Of course. He’d been acting exactly like an omega going into heat, which hadn’t happened in over a year, thank God. The person outside was only trying to help, and he’d taken over the restroom for long enough.

He wondered, though… the alpha would probably be at the reception. The two of them would be there, together, and compatible scents were rarely one-sided. There was a chance that they would respond to his scent in some way, if not as strongly as he had responded to theirs.

_Go dance with her and make her want you anyway._

It was time to go find his daughter and find out what sort of plotting she’d been up to. And if he got to meet Mary Winchester and her mystery alpha, so much the better.

“I’ll be right out!” he called, and pushed the chair back in place. Then he took off his wrist blockers and threw them in the trash, scrubbed his wrists and neck where he’d applied scent suppressants earlier in the evening, and went to join the party.

By the time Castiel had made it back to the lobby where the reception was being held, the crowd had thinned out considerably, since the donation for staying after and meeting the performers was over a thousand dollars. Hell of a price for a meet-and-greet, but Castiel knew it was for a good cause, and the performers did, too. By the end of the night the Omega Rescue Alliance, a sister group to the Novak family’s Last is First agency, would deposit over a million dollars into its main operational account, even accounting for the building rental and catering. The copyright for the Saj Symphony would assuredly remain in the composer’s hands, but no one would blame her for that. Musicians have to eat, too.

Speaking of eating. At thirteen, Claire had the metabolism of a hummingbird and ate like a horse, which usually made it easy to pin her down when she wasn’t actively hiding. A buffet had been spread out along a back wall, and Castiel suspected his daughter would be either there, or close enough that he’d be able to find her.

He saw her pink dress and was at her side before she had time to move anywhere else.

“Claire,” he said, in a voice just short of menacing.

She startled and turned to him with a grin. “Dad, gosh, stop doing that! Hey, you have to meet Sam. Remember I told you about him?”

“You mentioned Samantha.”

Caught out, Claire stuttered a bit, then made the best of things. “Um. Yeah, so hang on, let me get him over here.”

Before he had a chance to reprimand her, she had darted into the crowd and come back dragging a skinny mop-haired kid who looked a little dazed, which was not an uncommon response when faced with Claire’s terrifying force of will. Castiel offered his hand immediately, to minimize the impending social embarrassment.

The boy took it. “Mr. Novak, hi, it’s… really awesome to meet you. Sir. I mean—”

“Sam, shut up,” Claire said. “Dad, this is Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester’s youngest son, and I think he’s the most awesome one, too, and super smart, and he’s going to major in A/B/O studies when he goes to college, and maybe actually DO something with his life, and I know you said to leave them alone, but _he_ found _me_—”

“Claire, enough.” Castiel didn’t like to ignore his daughter, but sometimes things had to be done. “Hi, Sam,” he said, giving the boy’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. “So you’ve unearthed our branch of the Novak family. I had hoped running to the ends of the earth would keep us out of sight.”

Sam scratched the back of his neck, an adorably nervous tell. “Yeah, I just… well, it’s just that Claire goes to school upstate, and Novak’s not a common name, so.”

“Which is why she’ll be changing schools in January,” Castiel said, and waited for the bomb to hit.

“Daddy!” Claire squeaked. Sam’s mouth dropped open. Castiel grinned; it was almost enough to pay her back for the debacle downstairs.

“Of course you’re not changing schools, do you have any idea how hard it was to get you in? The look on your face was tremendously satisfying, though.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Mr. Novak, I think… I just have to say this, even though Claire doesn’t want me to. In Berlin, you were really there for us, even though you had no reason to be. The money…we didn’t need it in the end, but thank you so much for making the offer.”

Castiel was beginning to think his daughter might not live to get back to school. “I don’t know what you mean, Sam. I suspect my daughter’s been playing both of us. Again.”

“The ransom,” Sam said, and then shut his mouth, throwing Claire a furious grimace.

Claire sighed. “No, he doesn’t know,” she said to Sam. “And it wasn’t him making the offer. It was my money, and I was going to pull it out of my eTrade account for you. For your mom.”

“No, I didn’t get that information,” Castiel said. As far as he knew, the auction house had been working on the ransom before the police had decided to extract Mary Winchester from the house in Moabit. Now his daughter was telling him she’d been ready to get two and a half million dollars from her stock account to—

“You had two and a half million dollars in your stock account? Claire, you can’t even set one of those up until you’re legally eighteen.”

“I get bored when I’m home from school and it was for a really good cause, the best, I mean, Mary freaking Winchester? Like you wouldn’t have done the same?”

Castiel took his daughter’s hands and kissed them gently, one at a time.

“I absolutely would have done the same. And I would have paid much more,” he said, glancing at the Winchester boy. “No thanks are needed, ever. And nothing needs to be said to your mother. Are we agreed?”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.”

“Enough with the ‘sir,’” Claire said. “It freaks me out. He’s just Dad.”

Sam ducked his head and Castiel thought the boy might have been remembering his own father, who he’d lost years ago.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Anything but ‘sir.’”

Sam grinned and nodded. Claire squealed again and pinched his cheeks. “God, you are just so cute! I mean, I figured you’d be adorable, but then you’re so much sweeter in person, and—”

“Don’t ever take this girl at face value,” Castiel said. An acquaintance from across the lobby caught his attention and gestured him over. “Sam, can you keep an eye on her for a while? Just make sure she doesn’t find a chandelier to swing from. Or tear down.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said automatically, and Claire snorted.

En route to his colleague, an old friend from Georgetown, Castiel engaged in a fruitless scan-and-sniff for Mary Winchester’s alpha. The scan part was already useless, since every man was wearing a tuxedo, but he was hoping the sniff would be a little more effective, especially since a hint of it seemed to be lingering back at the buffet table. Maybe. After a brief catch-up with his friend, Castiel continued to circulate, until the tall doors on the far end of the lobby opened, and Mary Winchester joined the party.

She’d changed clothes, from the virginal, Elizabethan white to a deep burgundy gown slit up to mid-thigh, with either no sleeves or else tiny straps that left her shoulders bare; hard to tell from a distance. Instead of the updo, her hair was down and twisted into a simple something-or-other style that his late wife would have known the name of immediately.

His daughter took that opportunity to return from whatever infrastructure she’d been dismantling and slid under his arm.

“Smoking hot, right?” she said, with a nod to Mary. “You should probably stop calling her Mrs. Winchester, Dad. She’s not my fifth grade history teacher. Although Mrs. Davidson wasn’t half-bad, come to think of it.”

With Claire’s enthusiastic assistance, the applause started in the front and moved through the crowd like wildfire, killing any hope of a quick departure. But the violinist smiled anyway, and took the arm of a woman in a black and white suit dress, who led her to a far corner of the hall to meet her devoted (and wealthy) admirers. The women were on a direct path to Castiel, but he didn’t want to meet Mary Winchester when she was surrounded by other people. He wanted her alone.

And besides, just at the moment, he was after different prey. That alpha was around here somewhere.

He picked the nearest exit, this one leading back to the concert hall, and waited.


	14. The Parent Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes at the end.

No matter what Sam said, it really wasn’t that cold in the outside smoking area, and better to be outside and a little chilly than to be stuck in a headache-inducing room full of more sparkly dresses and perfume blockers than he had ever seen or smelled in his life. The outside wall was glass, anyway, so he’d be able to see when his mother made her appearance.

Sam pulled at Dean’s jacket to get his attention.

“That cellist is in there signing autographs,” he said. “I‘ll be right back, okay?”

“Yeah, go get her number, Sammy,” Dean said with a sideways grin. “Make sure that cute little thing in pink doesn’t see you, though—I’d hate to see you get in the middle of a catfight. Wait, actually, I would love to see that. But not here. Pretty sure Mom would rip you a new one.”

Sam sputtered at that, but didn’t argue, which was a good indicator that he was up to something. At the moment, Dean really didn’t care what it was. Waiting for his mother to come up was making him a little twitchy, even though he knew she would be safe with Ellen. Maybe he was being overly protective, but he didn’t trust his mother’s security around strangers anymore. He looked old enough to get a drink or five at the open bar, if he wanted, but alcohol wouldn’t help this kind of anxiety. He just needed his mother close. Safe. He just couldn’t stand to see her hurt again.

Mama’s boy, Sam had called him. He kept an eye on his brother’s floppy-haired head as he made his way through the crowd, and thought that as much as his younger brother pissed him off sometimes, the dude wasn’t wrong.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Dean saw the attention of the crowd inside shift toward the far end of the lobby, and he pushed his way inside the glass doors to make sure it was his mother back in play. They didn’t make announcements at things like this, so whoever made all these people pay attention had to be some kind of celebrity. And right here, right now, that was his mother.

A wave of applause confirmed Dean’s guess, and he let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Just as he was getting ready to find Charlie, and maybe get a beer for his trouble, Sam wiggled back through the crowd and glued himself to his brother’s side, glancing around the lobby too often for Dean’s comfort.

“What the hell, Sam? Who are you looking for?”

“He’s not looking for anyone,” said a girl who joined their group seconds after Sam had found Dean again. “He’s hiding from me. And probably from my dad.” Dean turned to see the blonde girl he’d noticed with Sam before the concert, standing close enough to suggest that she and Sam knew each other before tonight. Or maybe she just had no respect for personal boundaries. Or both.

“Dean, this is…uh…”

“Pretty sure that’s not her name, Sam.”

“This is Claire Novak. She’s… uh, well—”

“She’s family, actually,” Claire said, sticking her hand out to shake Dean’s. “You’re Dean Winchester, right? I mean, who else.”

Claire. _Claire._

“Sammy,” Dean growled. “What in the _fuck_ have you not told me? This is the Claire from Berlin, right? Who was ready to put up a couple million to pay Mom’s ransom?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, his shoulders rolling in towards his ribs like he was trying to origami himself out of existence.

“So? What’s the relation?”

“We’re close. But not too close, if you know what I mean,” Claire said with a broad wink. “Yes, I know the dirty Winchester family secret, and I really don’t give two shits where you put your big swinging dick—but your little brother does, so he managed to track us down. Turns out my dad is related to yours. So my dad might be able to help your mom out with her little problem.”

“You _told_ her,” Dean hissed. Sam recoiled from Dean’s rage, but rallied quickly.

“Yeah,” he shot back. “I told you months ago I was gonna find a way out of this for you and Mom both. Did you think I was kidding?”

“And you promised not to tell anyone. You fucking promised, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam said. “If there had been any other—”

“Your dad. Is he here?” Dean snapped, feeling his eyes burn with the first hint of alpha crimson.

Claire glared back at him with undisguised hostility. “Yeah, he’s here. But I swear, if you try to lay down some bullshit alpha challenge, I will stomp on you, his bodyguard will stomp on you, and then he’ll probably stomp on you some more in person, and he will kick your motherfucking redneck ass, Dean Winchester.”

“Okay, let’s all take a step back here,” Sam said.

“Dean! Gotcha!”

Charlie’s bright, friendly voice couldn’t have come at a better time, since Dean was half a second away from finding out whether a rampaging alpha could literally rip someone’s head off with his bare hands.

She closed on the group, heading from the bar, where Dean had suspected she’d been earlier. She handed a beer to Dean and kept the purple mixed drink for herself. “How gorgeous does your mom look tonight? It’s insane!”

“I know, right?” Claire said. “I honestly don’t blame him for the inappropriate touching, I’d kinda want some of that, too. Hey Dean, if my dad can’t get it done, you mind if I give it a shot?”

Not many people could stun Charlie speechless, but apparently Claire Novak was one of them. After she’d recovered from the girl’s vicious gaffe—it was clearly meant for shock value, and the kid might not have known how mean it was—Charlie pulled Dean aside and said, “Dude, are you okay? You smell like a forest fire, man!”

“Should we move this along and introduce the folks?” Claire said, although it wasn’t really a question so much as marching orders. “I don’t mean this to be all Hallmark and shit but I’ve seen all the dresses here and I’m about ready to get the hell home.”

The last thing in the world Dean wanted was to meet Claire’s fucking father. He’d just gotten his mother back, and now someone might take her from him, someone who might be able to give her all the appropriate, satisfying, legal sex she needed. Dean found himself horribly close to tears.

“Okay, Alpha,” Charlie said, taking his hand, which was all of a sudden clammy and hot and disgusting. “Let’s go find your mom, first. I think you need a hug. And you can tell me what the hell is going on along the way.”

Charlie was right, he needed Mary, and he needed her scent, immediately if not sooner, and if another alpha came between them, that alpha was going to end up torn and bloody by the end of the night.

“A hundred words or less, Dean,” Charlie said as she led him through the crowd.

“Mom and I are—”

“Right, yeah, I could smell that, congrats and everything. What else?”

“Sam found a close relative of my father. The brat’s his daughter. She and Sam want to hook them up so Mom doesn’t have to… you know, with me.”

“Got it. The dad’s around here somewhere, then?”

“That’s what the brat says.”

Just before they reached his mother and Ellen, Charlie parked Dean by a pillar, pressing both hands around his beer.

“Wait here and drink this,” she said. “I’m not letting you near your mom smelling like that. Just give me five minutes to give her some warning about this shitshow, okay? And try to calm down. You’re a big boy, and I know you can do this, brother.”

She kissed him on the forehead and left, her alpha scent and height parting the crowd like the Red Sea, leaving just enough space for Dean to watch what was happening. He kept his eyes on his mother, whose gowns had turned her from virgin to whore in the space of an hour. It was exactly what she meant to do, if Dean’s guess was right, and he doubted he was the only person in the room who was thinking about getting Mary Winchester between the sheets. Or on top of them. He almost distracted himself by wondering whether his mother would let him share her bed again, and—

And then he smelled something.

And then the smell ambled over to him, rubbed up against him like a big, sexy cat, so tempting he found himself leaning into it like it was a person.

And then the smell got even closer, slapped him, turned him stupid and dizzy: it was dark chocolate and bourbon, like the bourbon his father used to drink at night, the smell that lingered in his short beard when he gave Dean rough good-night kisses. And something else rich and sweet floating on top, like the whipped cream his mother made for pie at Christmas, with the super-expensive vanilla beans from Madagascar.

It commanded his attention with more authority than his father’s alpha scent ever had. His attention, and his obedience. It was all he could do to keep to his feet, and not kneel down right there on the marble floor for someone he hadn’t even seen.

He leaned back against the pillar, mouth watering, hanging onto his cold, slippery beer like a drowning man holds on to a tree limb in a flooding river.

Where was it? Where was the source? He was afraid to move, afraid that he would cause a ripple effect and make that insane scent disappear, but he had to find it, right the fuck now. Had to find it, and was terrified of it at the very same time.

Had his mother smelled it? Would it even affect her? He looked around and found her only a few yards away. She was blinking, like she was just waking up from a nap. She glanced at Dean, puzzled, as though the smell should have been coming from him, but wasn’t.

She whispered in Charlie’s ear, and his friend nudged her way through the crowd back to him.

“She needs you. Right now.”

“Yeah,” he said, and handed Charlie his beer as he went straight to his mother’s side. He put his arms around her as Charlie had suggested and felt immediately better—but not normal. Not at all. “Are you okay?” he said into her ear.

She shivered, either at the feel of his breath or at the question he’d asked. “No. Are you?”

“Hell, no. What is that?”

“You can smell him?”

“Jesus, how could I not? It smells like… I don’t know, fucking heaven. I guess. If you’re into that kinda thing. Did you say ‘him’?”

“You couldn’t tell? Oh, God, Dean… Don’t let go,” she whispered, and then the smell coalesced around them like some kind of spell, waking them up and pulling their awareness to the source of the scent.

They turned as one to see a tuxedo-clad man standing under the archway leading up to the mezzanine, the lights bathing him in an amber glow. He watched them both, hardly even blinking, his posture unyielding and self-assured.

“Shit. You’re not kidding. I… I didn’t think I liked guys until just this second,” Dean said, his voice a little unsteady, like the ground was starting to shake under his feet.

“I never liked omegas, either.”

“He’s an omega?”

“Oh, yes. But he feels like an alpha, even from here. I may present to him, in front of all these people.”

“Probably not the best plan, Mom. But maybe I should learn how to present too, you know? For later. You can teach me.”

“Dean, you’re an alpha.”

“Don’t feel much like one now.”

Sam chose that moment to sidle up next to her, Claire at his side.

“Um, Mom, there’s someone I have to introduce, and it’s a little weird.”

“Of course it is,” Mary said smoothly.

“This is Claire Novak. She’s family. She and—”

“Hi, Mrs. Winchester, it’s super awesome to meet you, I’m a big fan,” Claire said, but whatever awe she might have felt didn’t last for more than a second. “I could go on, but really I’m just here to hook you up with my dad. So how about we get the introductions over with, yeah? I promise it won’t take long!”

Which pretty much bolted and locked the cage on the parent trap.

Claire headed straight to the guy with the crazy smell and tugged on his lapels, straightened his bow tie.

Clearly, he was Claire’s dad.

Fucking of course he was.

“I wish you could hold my hand,” Mary whispered.

“Take my arm instead. It’s okay.”

Mary did, and Sam escorted them towards the newcomer, like an honor guard, or maybe a sentry, to make sure they didn’t make a run for it. The closer they got to Claire’s father, the clearer his features became, and by the time they got within speaking distance, Dean was certain that this man wasn’t quite a stranger. And from the sudden squeeze of his mother’s strong fingers around his arm, he thought she probably recognized him too.

Because of his eyes. The blue of the Atlantic Ocean just before sunset. You don’t forget eyes like that.

Then he spoke, sealing the deal.

“Castiel Novak,” the man said, in that rough, gravelly voice that had been unusual in Berlin, when the Winchesters were under ungodly amounts of stress, but here in New York City, when Dean was wrapped in the man’s scent—well, that voice made him wonder how he ever pretended to be straight in the first place. Then again, he’d never run into a man like Castiel Novak. Couldn’t have even imagined him, with his five o’clock shadow of a beard, cheekbones cut sharper than quartz crystals, and a nose that might have been broken and reset once or twice. But the rest of his face was almost angelic in its sweetness: plush, shell-pink lips, those changeable sea blue eyes, and untidy dark hair that made Dean wonder if he’d also done some heavy petting earlier in the evening.

Looking deeper—because he couldn’t not take a second glance—Dean saw something strange beneath the angelic lines of Novak’s face, a shadowy, knowing expression that hinted at dark secrets and forbidden invitations. Like he’d been fucking an escort in his limo on the way to the concert and was waiting to take Dean and Mary both backstage for round two.

“Mary Winchester.” His mother took Novak’s hand and let him hold it for a long moment, then let go. Dean felt her sway against him, but she recovered quickly.

“Dean.” He shook Novak’s hand and felt the mutual pull immediately—the same one that had nearly floored his mother seconds before, and something else as well, a subtle shock that made him think of an impending tornado. Novak lifted his chin, almost as a challenge, and then another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

According to his mother, this guy was an omega. And he seemed to be offering his neck to Dean in submission—but that’s not what his eyes were saying. The gesture was nothing more than a notification, a polite way of getting past the bullshit and being clear about his designation. Dean nodded in acknowledgment, then realized that he’d just exposed the nape of his neck to a total stranger. A male omega.

“You were in Berlin,” Mary said. Dean was impressed she could even make sentences, since he hadn’t been able to remember his last name. Her voice was solid, but she was trembling on his arm, and he knew she was remembering how it had been those first days after her heat had broken. “When the police took my statement, you were there. How is it you’re here now?”

“All my fault!” Claire said. “Our family pretty much runs Last is First—you know, the omega rescue organization?”

“I’m familiar,” Mary murmured.

“Yeah so they sent him to Berlin to help out with the…”

Novak growled, and Dean actually felt his knees get a little rubbery.

_“Claire.”_

But Claire didn’t shut up, of course. “It was just that you got so involved with rescue organizations, and Sam found out we were related through his dad, and we—”

“Sam and Claire insisted that we all meet, since we’re effectively long-lost family,” Novak said in his ragged basso voice. He shot his daughter a glance of cold anger, then dismissed her to focus on Dean and Mary, letting his gaze shift from one to the other, as though he couldn’t decide who he wanted to eat first. Dean’s cock was volunteering to be the first course, and he was pretty sure he recognized the scent of his mother’s slick escaping from under her skirt.

“And we’re having an after party,” Claire piped up, apparently unable to handle silence for more than five seconds at a time. “So we can all get to know each other. I probably should have sent an invitation earlier, but it would have totally ruined the surprise,” Claire finished. Finally.

In Dean’s eyes, his mother was the epitome of politeness and grace, but this time she choked. Before she could come up with a response, Sam said, “That’s awesome! Mom, we can go, right?”

Obviously Sam had been in on the planning, and he hadn’t left them much choice. But Mary still held the whip in the Winchester household, and even distracted as she was by Novak’s scent, she wasn’t about to let Claire take over. She regained her composure and said, “Technically, kids, I’m working until Ellen says I can clock out. It’s going to be a late night for me, and I’m not sure I can handle another party after this one. Or one more second in formal dress. Maybe we can get together tomorrow.”

“Is that what you really want?” Novak said, that dark, rough voice giving Dean all sorts of non-heterosexual ideas. He tried very hard to remember that this guy was a threat. He was the enemy. He could make it impossible for his mother to ever let Dean into her bed again. Shit. Fucking hell. What was he supposed to do?

Dean felt his mother’s hand slip into his. “I need to finish the meet-and-greet,” she murmured, just to him, “and then get the hell out of here before I humiliate myself.”

“You’re fine, Mom,” Dean said, and dared to lift her hand and kiss it, holding Novak’s gaze the whole time.

“I won’t be if you keep doing that,” she said with a shiver.

"So figure it out, gentlemen,” she said, glancing at them each in turn. “We’re all adults here, and I’m sure the two of you can come to an agreement, keeping everyone’s best interests in mind.” She squeezed Dean’s hand, and he knew what she meant. _Please make this decision because I’m completely overloaded and I trust you not to fuck up._ “Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Dean said, squeezing her hand back. _I got this._

Ellen appeared like a genie from a lamp, holding a long velvet shawl Mary had lost at some point in the evening. “Hey, Dean. Look, I have to borrow your mom for a little while, she's crap at mingling. The sooner we make the donors happy the sooner we can get out of here and get properly lit. Okay?”

“Sounds good to me,” Dean said.

“All right, come on, Mary, you know how this works. It ain't your first rodeo,” Ellen said, draping the shawl around Mary’s arms.

Hell. Dean was glad to have Ellen wrangle his mother, but since Team Parent Trap had disappeared along with Charlie, it was up to Dean to make some sort of conversation with Novak.

“So you’re related to my dad,” Dean said, asking the most obvious question he could drum up.

“I am. Apparently he was my half-brother.”

“Different mothers or different fathers? Unless it’s too personal.”

“Not at all. You should know where your people come from. And we had different mothers.”

“My people?”

Novak paused for half a moment. “In general. Everyone should know where they come from.”

Which was pure bullshit and they both knew it. But maybe he would get a straighter answer later.

Straighter, he thought, as if. He’d never been with a man, whatever designation, but he had a feeling he would roll over for this one regardless of society’s rules about alphas, who weren’t supposed to do that for omegas. But it was easy to imagine Castiel Novak shoving him up against a wall and grabbing his hair. Licking him. Biting him. Pressing his cock into Dean’s ass, slow and sure.

Novak’s scent got a shade sweeter, as though someone had poured another dollop of cream into the chocolate ganache.

“Dean,” Novak said, “as much as I’m enjoying our conversation, I’m sure that we should either go somewhere private to continue it or—”

“I don’t think that’s an option right now, Mr. Novak,” Dean said quietly.

“If you ever call me that again I will tell your mother you’ve been misbehaving and take a stick to your backside, young man.”

Oh, shit.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Call me Castiel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Castiel.”

“Okay.” Dean heard his voice crumble into a whimper and was terribly grateful that no one was close enough to hear it. “I should find my brother.” Right after I go back to my mother’s dressing room and pump one out before I come in my pants like a fucking thirteen-year-old.

“And I should find my daughter. Once we decide on our collective plans for the evening.”

Plans. Right. They were supposed to figure out this after party shit.

“So, Claire wants a party,” Dean said. “Does she get everything she wants?”

“No. She wanted an elephant for her seventh birthday. I told her she could ride one if we went to India and volunteered for two weeks first.”

“So that was a no?”

“That was an extended negotiation resulting in two weeks of volunteering at an animal shelter and a ride on a pony at a petting zoo.”

“Nice,” Dean said. “Sounds like a tough kid.”

“Parenting is tough, especially when there’s just the one parent.”

Dean thought Novak was talking about Mary, but then realized he was referring to himself.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Is her mom—”

“Died years ago. There’s a lot we don’t know about each other,” Novak said. “I was hoping we could start learning today, although I hadn’t expected my daughter to turn things into the London blitz.”

“Kinda sounds like she’s good at that.”

“She is. What do you want to do about tonight, Dean? As far as I’m concerned, it should be the adults who make the decision, not the kids. And your mother’s working. So. Let’s argue.”

They batted ideas back and forth for a while, both scanning the lobby constantly to make sure their people—kids and adults—were accounted for. In the end, Charlie interrupted and volunteered to grab changes of clothes and pajamas for everyone from the Winchesters’ place uptown, then meet the group at the Novak apartment.

“Happy to do it, my man,” she said, clapping Dean on the shoulder. “I mean, I’m digging the fashion week look, but these shoes are killing me. I can handle a pajama party dress code. Smell ya later, bitches!”

“She’s actually pretty brilliant,” Dean said as they watched her slink away on jeweled stilettos, calling for a ride on her cell phone.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Dean took a deep breath, hoping to boost his nerves to challenge this omega-who-was-really-a-freaking-alpha. “With all due respect, sir, I appreciate your hospitality, and I know my mother and Sam will, too. But the second we feel things going Red Wedding, we’re jumping in the first cab we see and losing your number."

Novak tilted his head slightly. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“You don’t—the Red Wedding? Game of Thrones? Seriously?”

“Claire’s been pestering me to buy the DVDs, but I‘ve heard they’re extremely violent. We see enough of that every day without contaminating our imaginations with it as well.”

Huh. His mom had said something pretty close to that a few years ago, although Dean had always thought she was just going through a phase and would eventually come around. Maybe she wouldn’t.

“Okay, well, I get that. I’m just saying that if Mom feels unsafe or uncomfortable for any reason whatsoever, we’re gone.”

Novak’s mouth twitched in something that might have been a smile, and if the light had been better, he would have sworn the man’s eyes had softened.

“Let’s make sure she has a good time, then,” Novak said.

Dean was pretty sure there were a couple of meanings buried in that sentence, and a nervous, eager little self really wanted to find out what they were. Another self wanted to cuff Novak to the buffet table and whisk his mother as far from the man as physically possible. Like to the moon. Rings of Saturn. Andromeda Galaxy. That would be a good start. Yet another self wanted to lock Novak in the dressing room and find out exactly what it was like to suck slick off an omega’s cock.

“I’ll call a car for us and let the staff know we’re coming. There’s no rush. Claire’s around here somewhere; I should find her. We’ll meet at your mother’s dressing room downstairs? Unless it’s not…I don’t want to intrude.”

For the first time, Novak seemed unsure of himself, and Dean couldn’t imagine why, until he realized that there was no reason at all for the guy to know where his mother’s dressing room was.

Unless he’d been there already, like… like two hours ago, right after Dean had emptied his balls into his mother.

Dean’s face bloomed with heat, and Novak’s did the same. Proof positive. Add that to the way he looked at Dean and Mary when they’d met, and Dean could be about 110% sure that Novak knew enough about their relationship to be dangerous. Because fuck only knows what his daughter had told him already.

“You’re not intruding,” Dean lied. His throat was closing up, like the time they’d found out he was allergic to kiwi fruit.

Novak was by his side like a shadow, and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing gently. The warmth seeped into Dean’s neck, guiding his heart rate down to a reasonable level, letting him breathe.

“We’ll work it out, Dean. You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, taking a step backward. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Novak gave him a short nod and left to find his daughter.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered, watching Novak walk away. He’d never felt so exposed in his life. And he’d never noticed an ass like that on anyone—other than his mother’s.

He checked the room, which was starting to clear out, and found his mother sitting on an oversized ottoman with Ellen and Tessa Saj. He got her attention and gave her the latest update, then went to the bar and ordered a double whiskey. He downed it in one satisfying swallow, his eyes on Mary the whole time.

There was only one reason to be going to the Novaks’ place right now, and that was to give his mother to another man. Let her try him on for size. He knew that no matter how enthusiastic she had been with him a few hours ago in private, if she could find a way to let him off the hook, she would. As if she’d be doing him a favor.

He caught a whiff of strawberry daiquiri and turned to see his mother approaching, Ellen and Tessa having headed in a different direction.

“Ellen’s off to find Sam. I don’t even have the energy for a drink,” she said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. She stood up straight and brushed the spot her sweat had left on his tuxedo, then sighed. “That’s what dry cleaners are for, I guess. And they’ll have their work cut out for them tonight.” She grinned up at him, her eyes tired but still sparkling, just for him, and for a second he felt like there might be a sunrise in his very near future after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many pennies are dropping, so if you see that a particularly shiny one landed in the wrong place, please do let me know in the comments. Scrivener's an awesome program but they haven't issued an upgrade yet that will check for plot holes and continuity errors, more's the pity.


	15. The After Party I

Ellen Harvelle wanted a little more time with Mary before the Winchesters disappeared into the wilds of Florida, and her demand for an invitation to the after party was eagerly granted.

The assemblage moved Mary’s things out of the dressing room at a quick march, since both Castiel and Dean were highly motivated to get in and out without any awkward reminders of what Castiel had witnessed earlier. Tall, dark-skinned Tamiel waited outside the dressing room door with his usual infinite patience and, once the evacuation was complete, escorted the families to the curb where the hematite-gray Novak limousine waited.

Dean claimed the limo “had nothing on Baby,” and while Castiel intended to find out what that meant later, at the moment he was just grateful the car was roomy enough to easily fit four adults and two teenagers (Tamiel took his usual spot in the front seat next to the driver). But even with that kind of space, he was entirely too close to Mary and Dean Winchester for comfort, especially with pups in the car. Thank God they were betas.

The situation became more difficult by the minute. Dean maintained a steady glare in Castiel’s general direction, his impossible green-amber eyes thrilling and challenging, his generous lips set in a full, tempting pout that wasn’t having quite the effect the young man had probably intended. It was torture, Castiel thought. The whole ridiculous farce was nothing but torture. Regardless of their attempts to hide it, he was sure that if he held out his hand to Mary (and if they were alone in the limo), she would let him pull her onto his lap and strip that dress off in a matter of seconds, and somehow her son—her alpha—would help him do it, and then shove his cock down Castiel’s throat for good measure.

As if he knew what Castiel was thinking, Dean pulled Mary over to nestle against him, where she scented his neck for comfort and tried to hide it by closing her eyes in a patently counterfeit nap. As they rode, he untwisted her dark blonde hair in a fall every bit as enticing as Rapunzel’s, and Castiel wondered if Dean knew what a double-edged sword he was unsheathing. Castiel needed to get his hands in Mary’s hair more than he needed to breathe, and at the same time he wanted to peel Dean out of his tuxedo to see if he had as many freckles underneath his clothes as he did on his face.

Sometimes bisexuality was highly inconvenient.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the Novak residence from midtown, but by the time they arrived, the adults weren’t far away from triggering two heats and a rut, even with the windows rolled down.

Tamiel opened the limousine door and the company emerged with a minimum of fuss. Castiel thought he might have heard a low growl from Dean, which would have explained why Sam punched him in the arm, but Mary seemed more concerned about her violin than about Dean’s conflicted alpha posturing.

“Keep your ringer on, Alan,” Castiel said to the driver. “Our guests may need a ride home, or they might not.” Mary glanced at him and raised her eyebrows, which gave him some hope, but of course if Dean didn’t want to stay, they wouldn’t.

“Understood, sir,” the driver said. “Have a good evening.”

“And you.” Castiel turned to survey his crew, and it struck him as odd that he was already thinking of the Winchesters as his. His, and no one else’s. It was clear from his earlier conversation with Dean that the young man wouldn’t resist Castiel’s leadership in the Novak family hierarchy, even though the Winchesters didn’t know there was one, yet. But as he’d told Dean back at the concert hall, there were a lot of things the Winchesters didn’t know about the Novaks, and Castiel wasn’t looking forward to providing the education. Mary, in particular, was going to eviscerate him just as a warm-up when she found out what Castiel’s family business was. She’d been a little busy that evening, but he knew the question was waiting on the sidelines.

Castiel nodded to the doormen and guided the group to the furthest elevator. They rode it all the way to the top, exited on the opposite side, and Castiel opened the door to the penthouse with a security card and his thumbprint.

Hearing the hushed, appreciative murmurs of guests when they came into the foyer was always gratifying, as was the genuinely friendly face of Eileen, the penthouse concierge who had apparently already made friends with Charlie. In true alpha fashion, Charlie had taken command by picking out bedrooms for everyone, although she had to know that the group would make their own choices in the end. Eileen graciously accepted her help in the kitchen as well, with a wink to Castiel as they swept into the penthouse. Eileen had no illusions about who was in charge; beta or not, she ran the show, and while Charlie’s assistance was welcome, the concierge was ready to step in and redirect the alpha’s energy elsewhere, if needed.

Tamiel exchanged a glance with Castiel, and once he knew he was dismissed, he disappeared into the bowels of the penthouse to write the report for the evening and review camera footage from other Novak residences. It wasn’t Castiel’s job that night. For once.

“It’s gorgeous,” Mary said, looking around the apartment with undisguised delight while Claire dragged Sam off to her room to show it off. The tree was especially outrageous this year, passing fifteen feet high and decorated with a hundred years of Novak ornaments, homemade and otherwise. “And huge. It can’t just be you two, can it?”

“Not at all,” Castiel said, heading to the wine bar. “In a week this place will be packed full of Novaks; I’m glad you’re getting to see it now, when it’s quiet.”

_“Oh my God that ASSHOLE!”_ came a screech from the upstairs bedrooms. _“Daaaad! Gabriel locked my system again!”_

"Relatively quiet," Castiel corrected himself. He let out a breath of a relief that Mary hadn’t yet noticed the rune-like shapes on the ceiling trim. Although the protective sigils wouldn’t be the same as the Winchesters’—American hunters used different motifs according to family histories—eventually Mary would see them for what they were, and probably sooner than later. But he wasn’t ready to open Pandora’s box yet. He wanted the Winchesters to know them as human first, before all the rest of it had to be dragged from the shadows.

“I could get used to this place,” Dean said from across the broad expanse of marble floors and the irregular rectangle of plush sofas and armchairs. “It smells like cheeseburgers and there’s Led Zeppelin on vinyl, Mom. He’s the witch in Hansel and Gretel, I’ll bet you anything.”

Right on cue, Eileen appeared with a plate of cheeseburger sliders, which seemed to explain things to Dean’s satisfaction. The first burger died in a matter of seconds, accompanied by inhuman sounds of satisfaction that made Castiel wonder how he could recreate them in his bedroom. Mary cleared her throat, her eyes bright and knowing, as though she could walk him through the process, if he wanted.

She took a bite of the slider herself and went to visit Eileen in the kitchen. It made Castiel nervous, to let a Winchester wander around the penthouse unsupervised, and yet it was hard to stay that way, given the marvelous reality that Mary was in his house at all. What he wouldn’t give for Amelia and Hannah to meet her. And for her to meet them.

But it was too late for that. Far too late.

Dean had come up behind him while he’d been watching the two women, smelling of some tantalizing roast just about ready to eat. He spoke into Castiel’s ear, but his voice wasn’t seductive; it was concerned.

“I’m not gonna bother asking. You’re not okay. You don’t smell okay. What’s up? Winchesters not good enough for you?”

Castiel shook his head. “Wishing people I miss could be here to meet you. I think you would all get along very well.”

“Maybe it can be arranged?”

“No,” Castiel said. “Not unless you’ve got a spell for resurrection hidden away in that lovely tuxedo. Oh, your clothes are probably upstairs in one of the bedrooms, if you want to make yourself more comfortable.”

Dean said nothing for a few moments, his green eyes boring into Castiel’s, processing what looked like a dozen variables all at once. He licked his lips in what Castiel thought was probably a nervous tic, but then again it could have been a subconscious invitation to… something. Surely he’d been told already that he had lips made for kissing. And other things. Many, many other things. It was all Castiel could do to tear his brain away from the idea of Dean’s dark pink, almost doll-like lips wrapped around the base of his cock.

“I’ll change if you will,” Dean said.

“Fair.” They split up, Dean going upstairs, Castiel checking on the women before he headed into the master bedroom to get out of his own formal clothes. Mary was in the middle of an interesting talk with Eileen, half of which consisted of sign language, as Mary was apparently fluent enough that they could communicate faster without spoken words. He watched their hands move between them like birds, graceful and emphatic, and didn’t need to know ASL to get the gist of what they were saying now. Mary had offered to help in the kitchen, and Eileen was about to kick her out, because no, she couldn’t handle food in that dress, what was it, Vera Wang? Jason Wu? Absolutely not.

"Up the stairs to the left, I think," Castiel said, approaching Mary as though she had teeth and was ready to use them. "Charlie has assigned everyone cabins." He was close enough now to see the faded mating bite that her late husband had given her over a decade ago. Omega or not, he wanted to put his own bite over it, and make her forget she was ever married in the first place.

It must have come through in his scent, because Mary made an effort to go, but couldn’t seem to make her legs work.

Eileen disappeared.

“I’ll miss the dress,” Castiel said. “But you’ll feel better in street clothes. Or pajamas. Don’t you think?” He slid his hand under hers and brought their joined fingers to his face, inhaling for a long moment. “God, Mary. I didn’t know you would smell so good. Like berries. And spring roses. Multifloras. Have you ever smelled them?”

“No,” she said, moving her face to his so she could smell their hands together. It wasn’t a proper scenting, which could end up with partners on the floor buried in one orifice or another, covered in slick and come, but it was enough to make her pupils widen and a soft shiver begin in her hands. “I should…”

“You should kiss me, Mary Winchester,” Castiel said. And then remembered how much he had to tell her first. She might not ever want to see him again after tonight. He let go of her hand. “But probably take care of the dress first.”

She darted up the stairs without a backward glance, the swish of chiffon and satin leaving a hint of her scent behind.

Castiel dropped his head on the granite kitchen counter and wondered if slamming his head on it might be worth the brain damage. Dean and Mary Winchester. And a Novak penthouse full of secrets. Could be amazing. Could go to shit. He felt that he might deal with everything better in formal dress, but at the same time, he’d feel like an absolute tool in a tux when everyone else was in pajamas. His daughter would piss herself laughing. So casual wear it was, provided he could find a clean pair of jeans.

After he changed, Dean stuck his head in the second floor game room, where the rest of the party was listening to the concierge lay out their snack options for the evening and breakfast choices for the morning.

“Wait, can’t we just order in? I’d hate for you to have to cook for us, we just kinda showed up on your doorstep,” said Charlie. “This is, like, the delivery capital of the Western world, right?”

Eileen exchanged a quick glance with Claire, who shook her head. “Nope. Don’t insult our chef. She does junk food better than anyone.”

“Yeah, that was a damn good cheeseburger. I’m gonna get another one before they get cold. Sam, you kick Curly’s ass, hear me?” Dean issued the command with a nod in Claire’s general direction. If the VR gaming equipment they had pulled out was any indication, the evening was going to be highly entertaining.

“No problem,” Sam said with a casual salute.

“All-righty then! Madam Eileen, if you’d be so kind as to point the big kids to the bar?” Charlie said. “We’ve been on our best behavior for _hours_ now, and it’s way past time to hang the disco ball.”

The adults made their way back downstairs, where Eileen showed Charlie the bars (there were three, arranged conveniently around the living area) then returned to the kitchen.

Charlie threw together a cocktail in a fancy martini glass and handed it to Ellen.

“Before I jump in this handbasket, would you mind—”

“Don’t question,” Dean said. “Just drink. Charlie’s like that hot chick in _Chocolat_, the one who knows what you want before you do,” Dean said.

“If you say so.” Ellen took a generous swig and hummed, surprised. “This is fabulous. I don’t care what you call it, but I do want the recipe before you leave.”

Charlie shrugged, pleased by the compliment. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

While the women dove into mixology, Dean wandered around the enormous great room, poking into bookshelves (mostly history, biographies, and photography) and getting up close and personal with the artwork. The lighting in the room was on the dim side—the Christmas tree provided most of it—so picking out details wasn’t easy.

It looked like the artist had actually painted directly onto the walls with colored plaster, but it must have been a hell of a ladder to get all the way up to the ceiling, which was well over twenty feet high in some places, giving the place the quiet, hushed air of a church.

There were a few framed pieces here and there—a couple of landscapes, one or two portraits, and one completely wacko tapestry that looked like it could have been found in a French monastery, but was in good enough shape to have been woven in the last century. More than anything, it reminded him of the sculpture outside St. John the Divine Cathedral up by Columbia, the one with the Archangel Michael defeating Satan and holding a dog – or maybe a kitten, hell if Dean could remember—with a lot of other animals being all peaceful and chill together. The Peace Fountain. That was it. But the tapestry here was darker than the Fountain, and showed the Archangel, bleeding from multiple wounds, stabbing a devil figure with three heads, under attack by creatures that Dean had never seen in any zoo, and wouldn’t want to have playing around in his backyard. The corners and borders of the tapestry were woven with apocalyptic events—a crack in the earth, a tsunami, a tornado, and he thought maybe somebody had embroidered a tiny version of Donald Trump into the bottom right corner, peeking out from the top of the tornado.

He smelled basil and knew Charlie was coming up from behind him. He shook his head. “Had enough booze. Stuff going on.”

“Duh. It’s Coke, you idiot.” She pressed it into his hand and stood beside him, getting an eyeful of the tapestry. “That’s some seriously heavy shit.”

Dean got a whiff of Castiel’s scent next, which was either really strong or being forced through the ventilation system, because the man himself was just coming out of a hallway on the far side of the great room. He’d changed into well-worn jeans and an untucked white Oxford. When he passed Dean and Charlie, he said, “Dean, the vinyl’s over there. Set us up with something? Anything but Christmas music. Blame the Duran Duran on my brother Gabriel.”

Castiel was a little taller than Dean, who had some years of growth left in him, so it didn’t feel strange for him to put a hand on the back of Dean’s neck for a few seconds. It felt really nice, actually; warm and comforting, although if Dean had any more alcohol in his system, he might have been tempted to kneel in front of the older man and offer himself for all kinds of services, none of which would be appropriate in the current setting. It was turning out to be an almost automatic reflex, and Dean wasn’t at all sure how he felt about it.

Castiel moved his hand and stayed on course to the kitchen, which was both disappointment and deliverance from further embarrassment. If Dean could scent Castiel from across a room, it was a sure bet that Dean’s own scent was broadcasting his attraction to the older man like the fucking ISS satellite.

Still, he got another look at Castiel’s ass as he walked away, suspecting that those jeans were thirty-year-old denim soft, and were covering up some perfect curves that would be a little too big to fit in his hands but still—

Charlie coughed and raised her eyebrows.

Yeah, he was pretty sure his Straight card was about to be shredded sooner than later.

Then he remembered what his mother had said in her dressing room. _I want to be with you for as long as I can be._ Which sounded maybe like monogamy, at least on her part, although he was sure that if he wanted to be with someone else she wouldn’t object. It might sting, but she would let him go anyway.

The turntable and entertainment center were easier to find than the TV, which Dean found kind of reassuring. It took a while to flip through the record collection, which was a dizzying mess of a dozen genres from the 50s all the way through the 80s. He pulled out the album he was looking for, set it carefully on the turntable, B side up, and placed the needle in the outer groove. The song played flawlessly; Castiel’s sound system was every bit as good as he thought it would be.

Charlie hummed softly to drag Dean’s attention away from the rest of the collection. His mother came down the gently curved staircase like a queen, even though she’d dressed way down, wearing a long, fringed cardigan over jeans and a low-cut, lace-trimmed camisole. For jewelry she’d picked things that Dean and Sam had given her: a sparkling blue topaz ring from Sam, for her latest birthday, and the hammered silver treble clef pendant from Dean, who’d given it to her for no good reason at all, except that he’d known she would love it and he couldn’t wait for Christmas.

Charlie sighed like a twelve-year-old girl pining over a K-pop star.

“I picked out her clothes. This is a peak experience, man.”

“Dude, stop talking about it. You’re like a daughter to her.”

“You’re actually her son and it didn’t stop you.”

“Thin ice, Bradbury. Thin fucking ice.”

Castiel and Mary spoke briefly, but Mary was assaulted by Ellen before they could get much farther in their conversation.

“You. Woman. Person who I may not see for months. Come sit with me. Much to discuss.” She dragged Mary down to the enormous sofa next to Charlie.

Mary glanced at Charlie. “How many drinks did you make her?”

Charlie shrugged. “Two. But she probably drank them on an empty stomach.”

Castiel meandered around the room in Dean’s general direction, leaving a wide berth around the island of women on the couch. He came at Dean straight on, though, like he was shooting at a target, those hypnotic eyes unreadable in the dim light.

“Pardon me, Dean,” he said, reaching past him to get two rocks glasses from the bar. His scent seemed to soak into every pore of Dean’s body, and he thought for a second that he’d actually whined like a puppy. “Fuck,” Castiel whispered, and hearing the profanity out of Castiel’s mouth made Dean’s legs want to fold. “I’ll be extremely glad when we can all stop playing these ridiculous games.”

“What?” Dean sounded moronic even to his own ears.

“Never mind. What would your mother like to drink?” Castiel began to fold up the sleeves of his shirt, slowly, like he was giving Dean a hint of a strip-tease. It flipped a switch in Dean’s brain that connected the play of muscles on Castiel’s forearms to another place and time, one that demanded answers, immediately. Dean checked that the women were too far away to hear, then said, “So you were there. In Berlin.”

Castiel met his eyes and nodded shortly.

“You asked my mother questions about the abduction, you pretended to be a goddamned agent of one kind or another—”

“I never said I was an agent, or a police officer. The _Landispolizei_ allowed me to sit in.”

“Why would they do that? Who are you to them?”

“No one. I was working through my own channels. It’s my job.”

Dean wracked his brains to remember the questions Castiel had asked, but it was hard, being so close to the man and unable to block out his scent. And that was another thing.

“Blockers. That’s why I didn’t remember you. We were all wearing blockers.”

“A good thing, too,” Castiel said. “I would have forgotten every question I wanted to ask if I’d smelled the two of you in the same room together. And mated. Makes it harder.”

“We’re not mated.”

“You’re as close to being mated as two people can be without biting.”

“Would you please. Just. Talk,” Dean said, real anger cutting through the chocolate cloud of Castiel’s scent. “Stop dicking around and give me the whole goddamned story. None of this is a coincidence. We’re supposed to be family, according to your brat daughter, and even though lots of families lie to each other, we don’t. We try not to, anyway. So you got one shot to keep me from packing up and leaving. What do you want to do, Castiel?”

Castiel didn’t answer at first, but pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened it with a thumbprint, tapped it a few times, then handed it to Dean.

The picture was of a woman who had to have been either Castiel’s mother as a young woman or else his sister. She had dark hair, sharp features, and blue eyes that you could happily drown in. She was also sticking her tongue out at the camera.

“Sister?”

“Yes. Omega. Younger than me by two years. The baby of the family. They took her seventeen months ago. We looked for her for… we went to the ends of the earth. When we heard that Az—”

“The guy in the mask.”

“Yes. He’s the ringleader, so even to place him in Berlin was a major coup. I would have gone there for a lot less than that.”

Castiel’s hand was steady as he picked up his glass and added ice, but his smell had started to fade to something watery and weak, like chocolate milk made with one percent and not enough Hershey’s. Dean didn’t like it.

“But all the trails went cold. Dead ends.”

“Jesus, Cas, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we weren’t able to help.”

“It wasn’t a total loss,” said Castiel. “We got a few steps closer to bringing the ring down. But not in time. We think she was dead even before Mary was abducted. No one’s found her body yet, but… well. I’m just glad your mother made it out alive.”

“What was her name?”

Castiel smiled. “Hannah. She was a pain in the ass.”

Dean chuckled. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Right?”

“Right.”

_So_

_So you think you can tell_

_Heaven from hell_

_Blue skies from pain_

Castiel poured himself two fingers of liquor from a carafe and raised his glass to Dean, singing the words softly.

_…a smile from a veil_

_Do you think you can tell?_

They hummed the rest of the song together, trading words back and forth while Castiel made Dean a drink, just to give himself something to do, Dean suspected. Dean sipped occasionally, until the song ended.

_Running over the same old ground_

_What have we found_

_The same old fears_

_Wish you were here_

The needle hopped to the next song on the album, which was only slightly less dispiriting than the one before.

Using the music to keep their conversation private, Castiel said, “I have to apologize for what happened earlier this evening, after the concert. I had no business barging in on you as I did.”

“Why did you?”

Castiel stepped up onto one of the stools and rested his elbows on the padded edge of the bar. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d have thought he was talking to Cary Grant on a lousy day when he hadn’t shaved and was well overdue for a haircut.

“I should probably just say I was looking for a bathroom. And I was, at first.”

“So then…?”

“Dean, has anyone ever told you what your mother smells like?”

“It would be kind of rude if they did. But you don’t have to tell me she—”

“Yes, she has a wonderful personal scent. Which, in itself, would probably not have been enough to make me walk in on someone unannounced. I was taught better than that, I would hope. But it wasn’t just her. I smelled the two of you, together, from a couple of hallways away, through a closed door. I was looking for a bathroom, but by the time I came to your mother’s dressing room I couldn’t have cared less about taking a piss; all I wanted was to find out where that smell was coming from and drown in it. So you see, you and your mother smell like mates to me. Like my mates. Which isn’t something I’ve ever experienced before, not even in previous marriages.”

“Marriages, plural? How many women—people—have you been married to?”

“It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Cas, you’re not that old.”

Castiel coughed on his whiskey, but recovered quickly with the help of a bar napkin.

“That didn’t come out right, sorry.”

“It’s fine, Dean. I’ll take it to mean I’m aging well,” he said.

“Pretty well, yeah. Mom thinks so, too, but don’t tell her I told you. And hey Cas, she… unless she’s totally psychic—which she might be, she’s my mom, so—she doesn’t know that you know about me and her. We haven’t had a chance to talk tonight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the women chat quietly and drink. Ellen had apparently slowed down, while Charlie and Mary were refilling each other’s wine glasses in a steady effort to catch up with her. Ellen had Mary’s hand in both of hers and was talking in low, earnest tones, as Charlie nodded and occasionally added a word or two to the conversation.

“This is a really fucked up situation,” Dean said, waiting for Castiel to agree.

“For most families, I’d imagine so. But Novaks have always been deviants. Incest is barely a blip on the radar for us. At least you had a good reason for it.”

“Are you gonna try?”

“I’m sorry?” Castiel poured another finger into Dean’s glass even though Dean was pretty sure he wasn’t going to drink it.

“Don’t be a douche. You’re the one bitching about game-playing. Are you gonna sleep with my mother?”

“So it’s true. She can’t come without—”

“Yeah. Without me. Unless we can find someone else in the family. And she wants to find someone else. I think.”

“You don’t want her to.”

“’Course not. I love her. I always have. I would do anything in the world to keep her happy. I know I’m not supposed to feel like that about my mother, and maybe it means I’m a psychopath, or just broken, but… none of that matters. I just love her.” It occurred to Dean that he’d never said that to anyone until he met Castiel, not even to Sam, who would have stuck a finger down his own throat and pretended to vomit anyway.

“Understood. I don’t blame you. But what happens if she does find someone else? How are you going to keep yourself from killing him? Or her?” Castiel’s calm gaze stayed on Dean as though he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. “I’m not a homewrecker, Dean.” He leaned forward just enough that Dean imagined he felt Castiel’s breath in his ear. “I will in no way come between you.”

Dean cleared his throat quietly, not wanting to attract the attention of the hen party. “There’s no home to wreck. We’re not a couple. It’s just a band-aid until we can figure out something else.”

“And you believe that?” Castiel took a swallow from his glass, his eyes trained on Dean. Dean couldn’t help but notice the movement of the omega’s throat, and he knew damn good and well Castiel had exposed his neck on purpose.

Even as distracted as he was, Dean still remembered his mother’s words just before they had kissed in her dressing room. _It can’t possibly end well—you should find someone to mate with, and have pups with, but right now, this moment… I want you._

“I have to believe it,” Dean said. “I’m afraid to believe it’s anything else.” Because as soon as his mother found some other way to… well, he’d be right back where he was after Berlin, crying into his pie at Perkins seven days a week.

“Dean, look at her. She needs to be taken care of, don’t you think?” Castiel nodded in Mary’s general direction and Dean had to admit that his mother didn’t look at all happy, hopeful, or intrigued by the conversation going on between Dean and Castiel. She looked tired and miserable. Whatever she and the other women were talking about didn’t seem to be lifting her mood, which Dean didn’t think was fair at all, given how hard his mother had worked that night.

Castiel wrapped his large hand around Dean’s glass, their fingertips barely touching. “I’ve been wrong before, but in this case I am absolutely sure we could persuade her to let us both… help.”

Jesus. The hair on the back of Dean’s arms lifted, one strand at a time, even though it was nice and toasty in the penthouse. Castiel glanced at the fuzz, raised an eyebrow, then mercifully turned to watch the women again, leaving Dean a moment to catch his breath and look around for his frontal lobe, which seemed to have melted out of his ears over the last ten minutes.

When Charles set off for the kitchen, Dean escaped the perimeter of Castiel’s easy dominance and went to see to his mother. Up close, she was clearly flushed, and he pressed his palms to her face, partly to check her temperature for an early heat, partly because he just needed to touch her. He took Ellen’s drink from the coffee table and held it against his mother’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just a flash. It’s been a hell of a day.” She stood up and headed to the clump of armchairs arranged by the terrace windows. She cracked one of the windows and sat, leaning toward the window as if waiting for the next cold breeze. As far up as they were, Dean figured it couldn’t be long until the next one. “Hey, can you go check on Sam, maybe hang out with him for a little while? Something tells me Claire might not be the best influence. I’m okay—Charlie's coming back with some water and I'm already feeling better.”

“Something tells me you’re right.” He knelt at her feet, as desperate for attention as any five-year-old, and kissed her hands, even though he wanted to be kissing her everywhere else. “Back soon.”

Halfway down the second-floor hallway, Dean heard a howl of pure fury that absolutely could not have been Sam—but it was. He poked his head into the game room and caught his brother spewing a string of invective, profane and otherwise, while Claire was cackling on the other side of the sofa, clearly pounding him at some game that Dean didn’t recognize.

“Whatcha playin’?”

“_I’m_ playing,” Claire said. “Bro’s losing.”

“It’s ABO Apocalypse,” Sam said. “It’s not even out yet but these privileged assholes get beta software for it.”

“It’s nice to be a Novak!” Claire sang as she wasted Sam’s team with a combination flamethrower/grenade launcher distance attack.

“Damn it!” Sam set the controller down and Dean admired his restraint. For a while it sure looked like he was about to chuck it into the TV screen. “I’m done, Claire. You beat me. Screw it. Hey Dean, I got something for you. Check this out.” He stretched across the long love seat (damn the kid was turning into a giraffe) and logged on to his tablet, which was already open to the file he wanted to show Dean. It was a family tree.

“So it turns out Claire is actually useful for something other than being a perfect little bitch,” Sam said. “Apparently our dad was not just Castiel’s half-brother, he was an illegitimate half-brother. Here, look. Zachariah Novak—Castiel’s father—had five legit kids, Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer—”

“Get out. No one names their kid Lucifer.”

“They do if they have a God complex,” Claire put in. “And grandfather Zachariah was like, woah. You know?”

“No,” Dean said. “But I guess I’ll find out. Go on, Sam.”

“Lucifer, Castiel, and Hannah.”

“I heard about Hannah,” Dean said. “Sorry about your aunt, Claire.”

“Yeah, thanks, Dean. Or is it gonna be Uncle Dean? I guess it depends on who mates who, right?”

“Nobody said anything about mating.”

“Don’t engage,” Sam warned. “She’ll go for hours. So anyway, Zachariah Novak meets Margaret Campbell—Claire won’t tell me how, I don’t think she knows—and Margaret has our dad out of wedlock and tries to stay hush-hush about it. Because nobody wants to piss off Zachariah’s wife Naomi, ‘specially not Zachariah.”

“Right. Is… is Naomi still alive? Just asking ‘cause I can’t imagine she’d be too psyched to meet us, seeing as how we’re kind of bastard kids.”

“No, Dad’s the bastard,” Sam said. “You and I were born in wedlock, so we’re okay. I mean, except for all the other messed up stuff. But I see your point. Claire, where’d you say Naomi lives these days?”

“The Ancient One,” Claire corrected. “She’s in France.”

“So half a world away,” Dean said.

“Technically, no—you’d have to go—”

“Give it a rest, Claire,” Sam said.

“What about Zachariah?” Dean asked. “Is he still kicking?”

“Oh, yeah,” Claire said. “Not kicking, exactly, but he’s still alive. It’s just, you remember Hera, in Greek mythology?”

“Goddess of marriage, yeah.”

Sam gave him a look like he’d just sprouted antennae. “How the hell do you know that?”

“A lifetime of_ Jeopardy_ with Mom, you don’t think some of it sunk in? They have mythology categories once a month at least.”

"ANYway,” interrupted Claire, “The Ancient One went kinda bitch-queen Hera on Gramps after she heard about your Dad, and we’re still not sure what kind of spell she cast, but it was a fucking whopper. He’s a turnip. Vegetative state. I mean, he’s got his own house and stuff, and he’s not technically dead, so the family fortune can’t be passed down to Michael yet. Which hardly matters, because this family is all about power, and my Dad’s cracking the whip now.”

As much as he disliked Claire, the kid was a broken fire hydrant of information. No telling how much of it was true, though. Also, the idea of Castiel with a whip in his hand was strangely attractive, especially since Dean had already thought about kneeling for him. Damn. At least the kids were betas and wouldn’t call him on suddenly smelling like a pathetic excuse for an alpha.

Charlie showed up with another plate of snacks from Eileen, who seemed to believe that keeping her guests fed was her life’s work, and it probably was. Dean snatched an egg roll from the plate, and then another, and realized that he was honest-to-God starving for some real food. Raiding the kitchen was beginning to sound like a great idea.

He came back down to see Ellen curled up on the enormous sofa, covered in a throw blanket that probably wasn’t real fox fur but sure as shit looked like it, snoring gently. She looked comfortable, so he left her there and found the kitchen, where Eileen was sitting at the prep bar, head propped on one hand, barely paying attention to the show playing on her tablet. She straightened up when she saw him.

“Hungry?” she said, signing along with the spoken word.

“Yeah, actually. Those egg rolls are awesome, I just think I need like three plates of them. Or a sandwich.”

“That can be arranged,” she said, the vowels and edges of her consonants only a little softened by her deafness. “What are you in the mood for?”

“I’d eat just about anything at this point,” Dean admitted. “Got any roast beef?”

“I think I can rustle up something,” she said with a grin. She opened the right door of what had to be a Viking fridge, bigger than the entire kitchen of the apartment he and Charlie shared in Tallahassee, and began constructing him a panini melt that eventually had the requested roast beef, some suspiciously perfect tomatoes (“the greenhouse has been good to us this season,” was all she said), provolone that melted like butter, and somehow she even knew to leave off the useless lettuce, which he would have picked off anyway since his mother wasn’t watching. A handful of chips and a Coke finished off the plate, and he sat with Eileen while he ate, pumping her for information between bites.

She was nowhere near as forthcoming about the family as Claire had been. She might open up if he stayed around for a little while longer, but Dean knew they’d be gone the next day, which was kind of a shame. He really liked Eileen, and he thought there was a lot more to find in this place than the album collection. He never passed up an opportunity to snoop.

“I told you he’d be there!” Sam said as he and Claire rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Dean, Claire’s insane and she wants to come home with us for Christmas.”

Oh, fuck.

His immediate reaction must have shown on his face, because Claire whined and immediately started laying out reasons why the Novaks should come home with the Winchesters, none of which benefited the Winchester family.

He bought some time by chewing really slowly—it worked, because that last bite of sandwich had been bigger than it should have been—and then said, “You talk to Mom about it yet?”

“No,” said Sam. “You’re the first sort-of adult we found.”

“How do you feel about it, Sammy?”

“I think it would be… um, nice? I guess? To have some more time with Claire and Castiel.”

“You can wipe that overly suggestive expression off your pretty face, mister,” Claire said. “I don’t swing in Sam’s direction and we took that off the table months ago.”

“Whoa, hey, no one made any suggestion like that, Claire. Last thing I’m gonna do is question a teenage girl about a crush, especially if she might be crushing on my smelly kid brother. I’d rather die not knowing. Let’s go find the mother ship.”

“Father ship will be totally cool with it,” Claire insisted. “You and your mom ought to be, too, I mean, you guys were nuts at the reception tonight. You looked like fucking raptors when you scented him, it was actually kinda creepy. I figured your mom would get all worked up—women usually do, even the omegas who don’t take him seriously as a fuck buddy, but dude, I did not see you coming along for the ride. Hot, though, right?”

Sam looked a little ill.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll see about that,” Dean said, ignoring the last thirty seconds of her speech. Castiel seemed like a busy guy, and if he really was controlling the Novak family affairs—whatever the fuck that meant—he wasn’t going to just pick up and go to Florida any time he felt like it.

He wasn’t gonna lie, though. It would be kinda cool to have Castiel around for a while longer.


	16. The After Party II

Charlie had picked out comfortable clothes and perfect jewelry, but it didn’t make Mary feel much better in her own skin. She felt like she needed to run a marathon, crash for forty-eight hours, then wake up clean in the cool sheets of her own bed, smelling the ocean and hearing the waves of an ebbing backwater tide. The Novak penthouse was dazzling, but it made her feel hollow, like there was too much room in her belly and no amount of food was going to fill it up.

She wanted to go home. Except it would mean leaving Castiel Novak, and she wasn’t ready to do that yet. Not unless Dean wanted to go, and the body language of the two men as they spoke together at the small side bar made it clear that Dean didn’t want to go anywhere and Castiel would be happy to keep him here permanently.

Mary took a seat by Charlie and Ellen on the overlong couch, and had to laugh a little, because with all that room they were tucked into one corner like a nest of rabbits, the alpha and the beta protecting the omega. And it felt nice to be protected, since the sheer number of people at the reception tonight had been intimidating at times. She’d told Ellen that she didn’t need a handler, thanks very much, but when Ellen said, “Okay, Winchester, how about a friend?” Mary couldn’t say no. And Ellen was a comfort, and a guide, and all the things that good friends are supposed to be.

And now she was being a nosy old hag.

“So let me get this straight,” she was saying. “Castiel Novak’s an omega, so he’s not going to try to breed you. He’s dominant—”

“Obviously,” interrupted Charlie. “It’s all in the eyes.”

“—so he’s not going to make you do all the work in the sack. He might have enough of John’s blood to light you up like a rocket, and my God, have you seen that ass? The man’s a unicorn. Why wouldn’t you give that a shot?”

“You know, I don’t even like men,” Charlie said. “But you have to admit, those are two very fine-looking specimens. And have you noticed, they’ve been rubbing up against each other and eye-fucking you for the last twenty minutes?”

“Charlie, I think you know we can’t have this conversation.”

“It’s okay, Mary,” Ellen said. “I knew about Dean after Berlin, remember? Or. Maybe you don’t remember that bit. Well, anyway, I know about … it. So speak freely, sugar.”

But Mary said nothing, just leaned against Charlie and let Ellen pull her legs across her lap. She let silence envelop the three of them, broken occasionally by a soft guitar riff and the rougher voices of the men standing by the bar.

“He nested, you know,” said Charlie. “God, I need a joint for this. Ellen, you got any?”

“Nope. Left it at the apartment.”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” said Mary, Charlie’s comment finally sinking in.

“Couple of times, yeah,” Charlie continued. “The first time you two hooked up, and then after Berlin. Because he couldn’t do anything to help. So he’s never thought of you as anything other than a mate, at least not since spring break. And you know what they say about alphas. Once they mate, there’s no going back. So it’s totally not my place to throw advice out there—”

“It’s really not,” said Ellen.

“—but maybe it’s time to meet this head-on.”

_There’s no going back. No going back._

“I should have just let things be,” Mary said softly. “It’s my fault this is even an issue. I was wholly selfish and I should have kept him at a distance.”

“For the rest of your lives?” said Charlie.

“At least until he found someone else.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what Charlie’s trying to tell you, honey,” Ellen said. “There’s never going to be anyone else, and anyway, can you really make that choice for him?”

Mary sat up and topped off her wine glass and Charlie’s with it.

“First, I’m his mother, last time I checked. I can absolutely make that choice for him,” she said, tossing back half her glass in one go. “How many times do I have to say this? It’s not as if I’d be making an orphan out of him. There’s someone else right over here, rubbing knees with him at the bar, who happens to be farther removed from him than I am.”

“Uncle/son is still pretty illegal in the United States,” Ellen said.

“Actually, shit like that’ll get you killed in Texas.”

“Not helping, Charlie.”

“Sorry,” Charlie said humbly, finishing the rest of her glass. Mary topped it off again, wondering if she was doing more harm than good. She considered asking Eileen for another bottle—it was a party, after all—but then realized that the wine fairy had already put another uncorked bottle on the table, and God only knew when that had happened.

“Look, are you worried about birth defects?” Ellen asked. “Because contraception will take care of that, and there’s no telling whether Novak even wants kids, since he’s already got one and she seems like a handful.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Charlie mumbled.

“Does Dean want kids?” Ellen asked.

“He’s never said. I haven’t asked.”

“Think of it this way, Mary. Lots of women—lots of people, actually—don’t want kids, or can’t have them, and their partners deal with that one way or another, or they break up. Mated people usually—”

“We are _not_ mated,” Mary hissed. “We will never be mated. I’m never going to tie him down to me—”

“Do you think you don’t deserve him?” Ellen said. “Because—” Charlie put her hand on the Ellen’s arm, and Mary turned away from them both, staring at the marble surface of the coffee table like her life depended on it. Her heartbeat pounded erratically in her ears and she felt hot, cold, everything, all at once. Sweat beaded on her forehead and a wave of dizziness washed over her.

“Charlie, I need water. Right now. Can you help me with that please?”

Charlie’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Mrs. W. I’m so sorry, it was none of my business and of course, I’ll be back in a hot minute with some water. Don’t go anywhere!”

Mary closed her eyes, until she smelled the dark forest scent of her eldest son. He touched her face like she used to do when he had a fever, and pressed someone’s icy drink on her forehead. It took every bit of self-control she had to keep from throwing herself into his arms and weeping.

_Fuck, I am in so much trouble._

“I’m fine,” she said before he could ask. “Just a flash. It’s been a hell of a day.” She cracked one of the terrace windows and sat in the nearest armchair, leaning towards it, hoping for a cool breeze. “Hey, can you go check on Sam, maybe hang out with him for a little while? Something tells me Claire might not be the best influence. I’m okay—Charlie’s coming back with some water and I’m already feeling better.”

“Something tells me you’re right about Claire. Back soon.” He kissed her hands and left.

The breeze came in through the window, carrying with it hints of the city below. Taxis argued right-of-way, sewers and subways expelled noxious vapors, and trash bags waited on the street for pick-up, their contents rotting even in the chill December air.

Soon enough something else overwhelmed all of those. Dark chocolate and cream, with a touch of butter, enough for the perfect chocolate ganache. Mary couldn’t stop herself from breathing deep.

Castiel Novak, offering a glass of ice water. Both equally soothing.

“Charlie said it should be room temperature,” he said. “Scientifically, she’s probably right. But she’s not an omega. She doesn’t know what a heat flash feels like.”

Mary sighed and took the glass gratefully, drinking half of it in one go. “I’m not going into heat, Mr. Novak.”

“No, of course not. Please, call me Castiel. Your son does. Finally.” He didn’t exactly make himself comfortable, but he did perch on the arm of the chair opposite her.

Mary attempted a laugh. “How on earth did you manage that?”

“I threatened to beat him with a stick if he didn’t.”

“You didn’t!”

“I certainly did,” Castiel said, his glimmering eyes never leaving hers.

“But you wouldn’t.”

“I would if he asked nicely. Come with me,” he said. “Best place for heat flashes I know. One omega to another. And the view’s fantastic.”

“I can’t go far. Dean will worry.”

“You’re safe here. I hope he realizes that sooner than later, but right now it’s more important that you know it. Do you, Mary?”

She considered it, and then decided that the time for playing games was over. “Honestly, no. Not entirely. But I haven’t felt safe since Berlin, so don’t take it personally.”

“I won’t. We’re just going out on the terrace—see the clear-walled enclosure? It has heaters and chairs and everything except hot chocolate and mulled wine, although that can probably be arranged. What do you think?”

He held out his hand, and she noticed it was wide-palmed and long-fingered, the kind of hand that could wrap around both her wrists and hold them behind her with a firm, gentle grip, if she allowed it. Since Berlin, nothing like that had so much as crossed her mind. Not until now.

It was tempting.

She took his hand and looked for Dean, but saw Charlie instead, and that was good enough. “Charlie! I’ll be out on the terrace.”

Charlie gave her a thumbs-up, meaning, _okay, I’ll tell Dean so he doesn’t freak out when he gets back._

As Castiel had promised, it was a lovely little niche, and perfect for waiting out a heat flash. Three couches of differing sizes, three impressive outdoor heaters, and an assortment of pillows that suggested the space was occasionally used for recreational purposes. Statues that she thought at first were gargoyles stood guard from individual plinths, but a closer look showed them to be birds carved in heraldic styles, of varying and somewhat unexpected species. An owl, a dove, a peacock, a falcon, and some others she couldn’t see in the darkness.

She didn’t go into the enclosure, and Castiel didn’t ask her to. He turned on one of the heaters and they stood at the stone wall, Mary leaning against it with the heater on one side and Castiel on the other. He radiated warmth, like Dean, and it was a good thing her flash was almost over, otherwise she’d be jumping over the wall just to get a decent breeze on the way down.

The view was indeed spectacular, as Castiel had promised, especially on a clear night like tonight, when the city below looked like a whole battalion of manic elves had been put in charge of the Christmas lights. She was famously lousy with directions, so she didn’t know what buildings were in front of her exactly, but since she didn’t see the black hole of Central Park, she suspected they were facing south, and that was probably the Empire State Building. Maybe.

She let out a long sigh as her temperature started to moderate.

“Thanks for this. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Are you feeling well enough to talk? I’m asking only because I don’t think we should put it off much longer. The apartment’s pretty big, but maybe not for an elephant of this size.”

“Well. Yes, that’s a good idea. Get everything out in the open. There’s a lot of ‘everything,’ you know.”

“Oh, yes.”

“So you know why Sam tried to find you?”

“Of course. He’s been perfectly up front about all of it. So has Dean.”

“He—what?”

“He hasn’t had a chance to talk to you privately tonight, not since I accidentally walked in on the two of you after the concert. Which was my fault entirely; I didn’t even knock.”

Mary felt the blood rush from her face and thought for a moment how stupid it was that she could play in front of two thousand people but the idea of this man knowing what she’d been doing with her son was making her ill.

“I’m so sorry. I should have known this would be uncomfortable for you.” He put an arm around her shoulders and she was so desperate for support, even from a relative stranger, that she couldn’t stop herself from leaning against him.

“Mary, I’m not here to judge you or your son. Would it surprise you to hear that I don’t care about whatever taboos you and Dean have broken?”

“Yes. Anyone else would.”

“I’m not anyone else.” His voice was so soft and low she had a hard time hearing him, but she knew what he was trying to tell her anyway.

“No. You’re definitely not anyone else. You feel... different. Like you vibrate on a slightly higher frequency. Like playing my violin after I’ve restrung it, before I’ve tuned it properly.”

“You sounded wonderful tonight, by the way. I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Flatterer,” she said lightly, grateful that he’d changed the subject.

“Will it get me anywhere?”

“You should ask my son. He’s well-practiced.”

“I will. Mary.”

“Mm?”

“May I scent you?”

She caught her breath. “I don’t think Dean would... he would be hurt. It’s very—”

“Complicated. But if you could let me, without hurting him... would you?”

“I... might,” she lied. Of course he could scent her, she’d wanted to offer her neck to him since the moment she saw him at the reception.

“Ah. That is very good to know.”

One of the glass doors opened behind them and Dean came out, looking for her. Perfect timing. Mary realized how close she’d been standing to Castiel, and that Castiel still had his arm around her. He made no effort to move, though, and strangely, Dean didn’t seem to mind. He found a place by the wall on the other side of Mary, then slid his arm around her waist. Which put her between two absolutely luscious men, who smelled like February snow and evergreens and a spoonful of stolen chocolate sauce all at once—they’d be jailed for public indecency in at least two southern states that she knew of.

And yes, that was her own slick she was smelling, too. Damn it.

She felt both men squeeze her from either side, but somehow it didn’t make her feel closed in or controlled. She felt safe. Safer than she’d felt in a long time.

“Hey,” she murmured to Dean, and looked up to him, clearly asking for a kiss.

“Hey.” He cupped her face in one hand and kissed her gently, lips on lips, no pressure to go further, especially with—

Holy shit. She pulled away from Dean to look at Castiel, who was smiling like he’d caught, plucked, and roasted the canary without anyone noticing.

Castiel’s slick smelled like nothing she had ever encountered—the chocolate was there still, but a heady, almost alcoholic note had entered the mix, like bourbon truffles in the first few minutes of blending.

Dean shifted to face her, and she felt his cock swell against her hip. She leaned against him and realized that Castiel was putting the slightest bit of pressure against her, encouraging the tease.

“Jesus God, you guys,” said Dean. “What the fuck did I come out here to say… oh. Yeah. Claire wants to come home with us for Christmas. Sam’s totally on board, God knows why.”

“Okay,” Mary said, her breath coming quicker. “It’ll be a little tight.”

“It’ll be fine,” Dean said. “But you probably got a lot of stuff to do,” he said to Castiel. “For work. Claire said you’re kind of in charge of the whole Novak family business, whatever that is.”

“We can talk tomorrow,” Castiel said. “I don’t want to impose. It’s very late, and I suspect Mary’s tired.”

“Exhausted,” she admitted, except that over the last five minutes, she found herself not very tired at all. “If the two of you would let me go, I’ll find my bedroom and pass out for a few hours.”

“Mm,” hummed Dean. “Not gonna happen.” He nuzzled into her neck, and she realized that Castiel’s hand was still around her shoulder, and Dean was rubbing his face against it at the same time. It was adorable and terribly sexy at the same time.

“The suite’s plenty big for you both, Dean,” Castiel said. “Let’s get our girl to bed, shall we?”

Despite her newfound interest in being awake, she was almost knocked out by an enormous yawn that threatened to dislocate her jaw. She gave up almost as soon as she came inside, when the intoxicating warmth of the penthouse seeped right down into her bones. Cold one second, sweltering the next. Like being on the moon, her mother had told her growing up.

Charlie was playing on her phone, probably texting Dorothy, and keeping an eye out for everyone else, as she usually did. Ellen was nearly asleep on the sofa but managed to stand up and say good-bye to Mary and Dean after Eileen called down to the limo driver.

“You did great tonight, kiddo,” she said. “Pretty sure they’re gonna make an adjective out of your last name. I’ll talk to you in a week or two and set up the next few dates, all right?”

“You did great, too,” Mary said, hugging her. “This wouldn’t have happened without you.”

Once Ellen was safely on her way uptown via Alan the ever-present limo driver, Mary said, “Hey, Charlie, which one’s my bedroom?”

Before Charlie could answer, Castiel said, “You’re down here, actually. There’s an omega-friendly room reserved for VIPs, and tonight, especially, you qualify. Charlie, can you bring her things down with Dean’s, please?”

Charlie grinned and hurried up the staircase.

Mary sighed. “You’re very bossy, Castiel. It’s not an attractive trait in an omega.”

He winked at her. “No, it’s not. Drives alphas crazy in all kinds of ways.” He nodded towards the hallway leading to another part of the penthouse, probably the alpha bedrooms, and then opened up a door into heaven.

Omega-friendly. Well, that was an understatement. Mary thought she had a big bedroom in the house in Florida, but it was a shoebox compared to this. The familiar fragrance made it clear that Castiel had been staying here for at least a few days, but it wasn’t overpowering, just comforting, like he would be there waiting when she fell into the cushions. As far as the bed went, someone should have been giving tours, because the thing really needed its own zip code and public transportation system. It was a double king, with an extra two or three feet on the end for the eight-foot-tall people who might need the space, and the princess-and-the-pea mattress was high enough that steps had been installed along the rails to get up onto the thing. Pillows of various sizes decorated the dark bronze and gold coverlet and yet somehow allowed access to a multitude of cubbyholes built into the sides and headboards. She saw books, a generously-sized flat-screen TV mounted from the canopy, a closed cabinet that Mary guessed stored toys and lube, a built-in refrigerator, and, best of all, a generous assortment of fluffy towels and washcloths to protect the exquisite bedding from the inevitable messes that resulted from sex with omegas.

She turned to Castiel and murmured, “Will it sleep three?”

He gave her a smile that was somehow sweet and wicked at the same time, his eyes gleaming, even in the low light of the bedroom. “Let’s find out the next time you come see us.”

Charlie came down the stairs with several bags and set them just inside the door.

“Holy shit,” she whispered when she saw the bed. “It’s the fucking Taj Mahal!”

“Charlie, can you put Maria—”

“Already there. Second floor, last door on the right. Honest-to-God music room. All the toys. Baby grand. Soundproofed or whatever. You know, a music room. Hey, you guys, I gotta go, it’s starting to smell like a porno flick in here. A really classy one, though!” she called on her way out.

Castiel pulled Dean into the room, did a quick dance around him and headed for the door. “Good night,” Castiel said. “The bathroom’s through there. And it’s fairly soundproofed here, too, in case that’s an issue.” He left before Mary or Dean could stop him, and Mary found herself alone with her son in a pasha’s wet dream.

“It’s like Christmas,” Dean said.

“It is Christmas.”

“Not yet. There’s what, a week left?”

Mary shrugged her long sweater off and let it drop to the floor, not caring much about what happened to it at the moment. “Do you really want to check the calendar now?”

Dean’s outer and undershirts were off in a heartbeat, leaving his chest bare to her impatient hands. She grabbed his belt and jerked him to her, unbuckling it in record time. She popped the button of his jeans and dragged the zipper down with no thought of subtlety or seduction; there had been too much flirting already; she needed to be kissed, groped, fucked hard. The muscles in her belly and cunt pulsed with need and her nipples went painfully hard against her camisole.

She slid her thumbs into his boxer briefs and pulled the entire assembly down, then dropped to her knees, ready to take him into her mouth in one satisfying swallow.

“Oh, no,” he said, dragging her up by her elbows. “Not this time.” She slid her hands around his neck and pulled him down, kissing him hard and long, which seemed to surprise him.

“Are you okay? I don’t know how far I’m allowed to push, I’m sorry, it’s just—”

“Please shut up and fuck me, Dean. I don’t think five minutes in my dressing room was enough, baby, I need more, please just—”

He kissed her, returning her aggression this time with his own considerable strength, crowding her against the steps leading up to the bed.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“I will. Take off my clothes.”

He shook his head like he’d just gotten sucker-punched, and did as he was told. With his help, she slithered out of her camisole and jeans like shedding a skin, and it felt so goddamned good that she couldn’t help but writhe against Dean’s naked body, making him growl deep in the back of his throat and lay his teeth into the muscle of her neck, and it was hard for her to remember why he wasn’t supposed to do that, or why she cared.

“All right,” he said. “I’m gonna throw you on this bed and eat you out until you come, then I’m gonna fuck you into this pretty mattress. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes. Oh, God yes, please I want that.” She could feel her own slick coming, lots of it, sweet and sharp, and when he tossed her onto the bed, she had just enough presence of mind to grab a towel from the cubby and slide it under her hips before he opened her legs wide and buried his face between them.

She yelled something profane that couldn’t possibly be polite to say in someone else’s house, but there was no way to stop it, no way to take her hands out of Dean’s soft hair, no way to keep her hips from grinding against his tongue. Distantly, she worried about how he was going to breathe, since she was essentially suffocating him, but he was a big boy and could take care of himself.

His tongue darted and licked inside her, drawing out frantic cries and more slick than could possibly be needed for one cock. He lapped at her clit, flitting and sucking in turns, barely able to hit his mark since she was so slippery. But it was enough to get the job done, and after only a few minutes of wolfing her down like a starving animal, she arched her back, cried out, and came hard, flooding his mouth and unable to give one single fuck about the mess they would leave or the mortification she would feel when she had to see everyone the next day. None of it mattered.

She let go of Dean’s hair and didn’t apologize for trying to pull it out by the roots; he’d asked for it, after all. He stayed between her legs for a few long moments, panting into her thighs, and massaged her clit with his whole face until she was shaking and trembling again, trying to push away from him with her heels, but he wouldn’t let her go, not even when he’d gotten her right to the brink again. He suckled her clit one last time, then crawled up her body to kiss her, sinking his cock into her before she realized what was happening.

“Dean!” she cried out. “Yes, please, please, fuck me, please!”

He did, rocking into her fast and hard, stopping only to hook his arms under her knees and open her up wide.

“Fuck. Fuck. Mom, I need to… can I… please…”

“Yes, knot me, give it to me, sweet baby, yes, give me your knot, make me yours—”

That was as much language as she could handle, since it felt like Dean was splitting her apart on every thrust, somehow able to slam his pelvis against her clit at the same time. By the sound of it, they might have been animals fucking, their moans and whines louder by the second, each push tighter and harder as his knot grew, until Dean dropped his head against her collarbone, gave one last, powerful thrust, and came inside her, his knot swelling so much fatter than she remembered it, like he was brutally shoving her insides around to make room. She heard him whine softly in the back of his throat and then felt his knot shift, wringing another orgasm out of her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles to keep him inside, as if he would ever try to escape.

After a while, he said, “I’m kinda scared to move. But I don’t think you can breathe.”

“Overrated,” she said. “I’d die a happy woman, anyway.”

She felt him shake his head against her neck. “Don’t even joke about it.”

“Sorry.”

He rotated his knot inside her one more time and she squealed, riding the wave of another orgasm, or maybe she had just been coming since he shoved his knot inside her and hadn’t really stopped. She was so tender inside that she could actually feel the heat of another spurt shooting inside her.

It had never been this good, not with anyone, not even with John.

“You know what, baby?” she said to him later, after they’d rearranged themselves and cleaned up as best they could while they waited out his knot.

“I don’t. But I bet you’re gonna tell me.”

“I think I should just keep you. Maybe just… not worry about all the other stuff. So we can both feel good. I mean, if this feels good to you. Because I’d never let you date someone who can’t satisfy you in every possible way.”

“Who I date isn’t your decision to make, Mom.”

She sighed. “I know. I was just—”

“You just wanted to know if you can make me happy.”

“Yes. I think so. Which is very immature. I could just ask, like a grown-up.”

He squirmed enough to slowly pull out, then rolled her over to face him. His eyes were dark in the dim light, but the gold flecks glinted like treasure buried halfway in the ocean floor.

“Here’s what I love about you,” he said, stroking her face. “In no particular order. You’re kind. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever known. You’re stubborn and strong. You love me and Sam more than you love Maria. You’re so fucking brave I can’t even believe it sometimes. You let me love you and help you when it made you uncomfortable and guilty and creeped out. You have the most amazing pussy. Which, I really don’t know because I haven’t been with that many women, but I’ll let you know as soon as I start sleeping around. You’re kind of talented and you work your ass off. Yeah, your ass is nice, too, although I haven’t tried that yet so—”

“All right, shut up!” she said, laughing.

“You also push yourself really hard and I don’t think that’s good for you. So if you want to keep me, you have to put up with me bitching at you about that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Bedtime.” He turned down the bedding, laid down yet another towel, and situated them both under the covers. Mary felt him tuck his cock between her legs and smiled.

“Getting ready for round two?”

“No. You just feel really really nice. And warm. Round two’s going to have to wait a while. You need some sleep.”

“You’re probably right,” she said. “Hey, baby?”

“God, _what_, Mom?Go to sleep already.”

“No, this is important.”

His breath stopped, just for a heartbeat. “You wanna talk about Castiel?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“I might be able to stay awake for it. You kinda wore me out.”

“Stay awake. Are you going to try to… be with him? Like that? I know it’s not my choice, like you said. But also, if you’re going to let me keep you—”

“Are you gonna be my sugar mama?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. I’m already your mama, isn’t that enough?”

“Do you want to fuck Castiel, Mom?” Despite the language, Dean sounded very young, and unsure of himself.

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“You brought it up. So?”

“I want… I want you both. But I don’t want to give you up. There’s no question of that. Do you understand, baby?”

She felt the tension in his chest and arms fall away, and he tucked her loosely into his arms.

“I want to be with him too. I think. But it would be weird without you. But I don’t know why. Could we…?”

Mary turned over and kissed him. “Based on the conversation I had with him this evening, I think so. Probably.”

She scooted up and snuggled against him, smooshing her face into his shoulder.

“Stop wiggling.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and wiggled again, just to aggravate him.

They would talk more tomorrow, the three of them, but just for now, this really was heaven.


	17. Revelation and Exodus

Castiel didn’t sleep much. It was a family trait, and not just because of the Novaks’ lineage, but because there was too much to keep up with to bother sleeping for more than a few hours a night. Michael, the eldest, had finances to manage and ungodly amounts of money to make. Gabriel, the middle child, said there were just so many men to fuck, and in so many wicked ways, and not nearly enough time to fit them all in, pun definitely intended. Hannah, the youngest, had never seen a drug, party, or lost cause she didn’t like, and Lucifer, born second, had driven himself insane practicing dark magic twenty-four-seven over the last couple of centuries. Castiel, the fourth Novak of his generation, spent his time protecting them all from their own idiocy, and from other forces even more terrifying.

Castiel worked a lot.

Once the family was asleep (the omega suite wasn’t quite as private as Castiel had let on, and it took a while for Dean and Mary to settle down), he’d opened his laptop and checked in on some foreign assets whose time zones were on the other side of the globe, even though he’d spent hours doing just that before he and Claire left for the concert. What happens in Vegas doesn’t necessarily stay in Vegas, and after last night’s somewhat public reception, it wouldn’t have surprised Castiel to see the Winchester-Novak connection floating around unwholesome places on the internet. But for now his new family seemed to be keeping a low profile—as much as you could, if you’re Mary Winchester.

He checked again on his people and locked the penthouse down—again—gave the wards a boost, and turned off the Christmas tree lights. After an hour’s nap on the mammoth sofa, he was woken up by the light scent of Mary Winchester creeping past him on her way to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her. “Can I get you anything?”

She must have known he’d wake up, because she didn’t seem surprised at all.

“Good morning,” she said in return. “No, I’m fine. Just getting some water. Charlie says the music room looked soundproof, and I have a mute. It’s just that… well, this is my best practice time. If it’s a problem, I can—”

“God, no. Go play. Make yourself at home.” Castiel sat up and stretched. “Is Dean awake? I’ll get breakfast started; he’s a fan of bacon, of course?”

“It’s an established food group,” she said with a grin. “But he’s still out. And he’s a deep sleeper, so… it would be a little strange for him to wake up alone in an unfamiliar place. Don’t you think?”

She trailed her hand over the arm of the couch as she left, close enough that he could touch her. So he did, covering her fingers with his own, feeling a thrill of connection, the sort of shared grace that only comes in the hours just before dawn.

For the first time, he let himself believe that he could have this—that they could have it, all three of them, together.

Then she left, and the thought went with her.

He took his laptop into the omega suite, which smelled just as much like a pornographic movie as Charlie had said the night before, turned on a reading lamp next to the bed, and settled himself on top of the duvet, so Dean didn’t get the wrong impression when he woke up. Dean himself was sprawled on the other side, obviously naked, the smooth curve of his ass barely covered by the blanket. In the low light, his skin seemed gold, but it was pale enough to show that he did indeed have freckles on his shoulders and back, although probably not as many as he would in the summertime. Castiel desperately wanted to touch him, but that was even creepier than just watching him sleep, so he kept his hands to himself. He did pull the duvet back over the younger man, though, in hopes he could demonstrate that his intentions were pure.

Although they weren’t. They were anything but.

He retrieved his reading glasses from his front shirt pocket and set to work again, this time monitoring an extended family of Novaks in Sweden who had asked for protection when Hannah had been taken. They boasted eight omegas, two of them males, and it was hard to keep track of them, since Novak omegas often demonstrated an exasperating predisposition to independence, much like Mary Winchester did. Castiel exchanged a few emails with the matriarch, then signed off, because Nana had told him the story of Gunter’s car wreck with the sheep a few times already, and Dean was beginning to wake up.

Mary was right; he was a deep sleeper. It took him a good fifteen minutes just to swim up from deep sleep to REM, then he spent a little while dreaming, his eyes shifting and moving continually under their pink-veined lids. Castiel laid his hand by Dean’s face, palm up, which seemed to pull Dean a little closer to full wakefulness.

Still not quite there, Dean squirmed close enough to burrow into Castiel’s hand, covering his face with Castiel’s scent until he gave a soft, closed-mouth moan that was enough to start waking up Castiel’s cock. Castiel encouraged the contact and smoothed his hand over Dean’s bed-head, laughing when Dean slid over the remaining three feet to snuggle into Castiel’s side.

“She didn’t tell me you were a cuddler,” Castiel said.

“’S not my fault you’re a teddy bear.” Dean flopped his arm over Castiel’s lap, nearly knocking over the laptop, and Castiel froze, not sure whether he should let his own arm rest on Dean’s back or just hold it up in the air like an idiot. He felt tension in Dean’s muscles that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago, and he couldn’t let that stand, so he put his arm down and stroked the smooth, perfect skin of Dean’s back until the tension dissolved.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Upstairs practicing. Do you want me to get her?”

“I’m not five, Cas.”

“So, no.”

“No.”

Dean gave a long, relieved sigh and went back to sleep, snoring softly.

Castiel didn’t blame him, seeing that dawn was still an hour or so away. There was work for him to do, as always, but he thought his time would be better spent watching Dean sleep, his face unlined and peaceful, looking even younger than he did awake. That was disturbing in itself; Castiel had never thought of himself as a pedophile, and Dean was nineteen, but right now he looked nowhere near the legal age of consent in New York. Which was absurd, because as soon as he woke up and got out of bed—naked, Castiel reminded himself—

He tabled the thought when the bird-shaped tattoo on his hip started to tingle, then to itch, then to burn, which meant that either communication or arrival was imminent. Best to figure out who was coming to allow time enough to get ready, especially with strangers in the house.

Castiel slipped out from under Dean’s very heavy arm and set his laptop somewhere safer than the mattress. He adjusted the coverlet again and kissed Dean on the head, thinking that if Dean was comfortable cuddling, he couldn’t object to one chaste kiss. And Castiel wasn’t entirely sure he could stop himself anyway.

He found his cell phone on the bar where he and Dean had been talking the night before, and saw that his brother Gabriel had been texting him for the last hour or so.

_Gabriel hey bro_

_Gabriel hey are you at the penthouse?_

_Gabriel HEY_

_Gabriel dude just got off the red-eye from singapore and am dying for some decent american grub, ask eileen to throw something together? if we still have a contract with joey’s i’ll pick up bagels just tell me how many we’re feeding_

Which was a not-so-subtle way of asking who was staying at the penthouse because Claire was leaking only so much information and it was driving Gabriel batshit not to know details.

_Castiel Eileen put the order in yesterday. They’re delivering in about an hour._

_Gabriel FUCK FINALLY YOU ANSWER YOU ASSHOLE_

_Gabriel i’ll be there soon as i can_

_Castiel I’m sure you will. Be safe._

_Gabriel never_

Castiel thought about getting dressed then realized he’d never changed out of street clothes to begin with. Claire was going to give him hell about it. He could honestly tell her that he did sleep for a few hours, and it did count even though he’d slept on the sofa. At any rate, she wouldn’t be up for a while anyway. He had a rare opportunity to drink a cup of coffee when he could be reasonably sure his daughter wasn’t plotting an apocalypse.

“Good morning.”

Mary came down the stairs, still in her pajamas, barefoot.

“Good morning, Mary. I’m about to start some coffee, and I was waiting for someone to share it. It would be a shame to have to drink the whole thing myself.”

“It would be an absolute shame,” she said, finishing her descent. “I spent several months saying no to coffee, and only came to my senses a month or two ago. It was like coming home.” Instead of heading to the suite to get dressed, she stopped in front of him and held up her arms, almost as if they had moved on their own. He shifted his weight and let her wrap her arms around him, feeling her short nails scratch light, knife-thin lines on the back of his skull. They held each other there for what felt like an hour, and Castiel couldn’t have moved even if he’d wanted to.

Mary leaned out of the embrace but rested her warm hands on his forearms.

“I haven’t known you for twenty-hour hours. I know nothing about you. Why is it like this?”

Castiel shook his head. “I have not the slightest clue.”

“It’s a little scary. No, it’s a lot scary. And Dean?” She nodded towards the omega suite, where Dean was still sleeping, presumably.

“He likes to snuggle, but he blames it on me. Had the nerve to call me a teddy bear.”

“Is your whole family like this?”

“Hardly,” Castiel said. “Come on. Coffee.” Otherwise he was going to drag her into the omega suite and have his way with both her and her son. But it wasn’t time for that. Not quite yet. Even though Mary knew the way, he took her hand and led her to the kitchen, where Eileen was puttering around and starting coffee, as if she’d heard them talking about it from the other room.

She interrupted her work to greet him warmly, and whispered in his ear, directing her words so that Mary couldn’t read her lips.

“It’s going to be a busy day,” she said. “You know Gabriel’s coming in?”

Castiel nodded. “Sooner than later, I expect. Who else?”

Eileen started to reply but was interrupted by a low vibration on her watch, followed by a bell-like sound coming from the foyer. She didn’t hear it, but the watch was enough to give her notice of the arrival.

“Gabriel. That was fast.”

“He’ll be pissed the bagels aren’t here,” Castiel said. Eileen rolled her eyes and went back to prepping for breakfast.

“Castiel, who’s Gabriel?” Mary asked, a tiny wobble in her voice.

“My brother. He doesn’t bite. Not women, anyway.”

“I know,” she said. “I should get dressed. And we should leave, I think, before—”

“Why are you blushing, Mary? There’s no need to be shy, actually, Gabriel’s the most open-minded of the family, which is really saying something, considering—”

“No, I know, it’s just that. Has Sam told Claire about what we’ve done to… no, it doesn’t matter, I can’t do this.”

He took her hands and rubbed them between his own. She was shaking, and it wasn’t the good kind of shaking. She was about to vibrate out of her skin.

“She said that you had worked with one of my brothers to treat your disorder,” Castiel said. “Which had to have been Michael—and God, I’m sorry about that—since Gabriel is gay and Lucifer is certifiably insane. And I was in hiding.”

“Does Gabriel know? That I was with Michael?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” Mary hissed. “It’s humiliating. It’s—”

“It’s just what it is,” came a new voice from the foyer.

Gabriel Novak coasted into the kitchen like he was on wheels—he was, sometimes, the man had roller skates in every family residence—and approached Mary, stopping at a respectful distance. His hazel eyes shone with excitement, and Castiel half-expected him to drop to his knees and kiss her feet.

“Mary fucking Winchester,” he said. “In the flesh. You know, the Saj has already been pirated—I got to see it last night on my flight and goddamn, woman, you are a force of nature.”

Mary flushed again, clearly still embarrassed.

“This is my brother Gabriel,” Castiel said. “Gabriel, this is Mary Winchester. Keep the fangirling down, please, the others are sleeping.”

“Yeah, not for much longer,” Gabriel said, running an impatient hand through his longish golden brown hair and turning it into a bird’s nest. “How do you even know that word, Castiel?”

“I have a thirteen-year-old daughter. Comes with the territory.”

Eileen touched Mary’s shoulder and said, “How do you take your coffee?”

Mary escaped to Eileen’s side to help with the coffee, murmuring something polite to Gabriel on her way. Eileen didn’t need the help, but she was a lovely person and was always ready with an out if someone needed it. Invaluable at family gatherings. Speaking of…

“All right, Gabriel,” Castiel said. “Who else is coming?”

“Uncle Gabriel!”

Claire’s voice cracked what was left of the early morning peace, and Gabriel’s booming greeting demolished it entirely.

“Claire Bear!” Gabriel picked her up and swung her around like she was still five, somehow managing not to smack her bony ankles on the kitchen island.

“Ugh! Stop calling me that!” She wiggled out of his embrace and crossed her arms, glaring at her uncle. “Where have you been and what did you bring me?”

“I have been to the North Pole, and I’ve brought you an elf to chain in the basement and torture.”

“Did you bring me enchanted chains?”

“Of course.”

“Is he an upper-echelon sort of elf?”

“Who said it’s a ‘he’?”

Claire squealed and hugged him, choking him a little, and Castiel said, “Leave him be, Claire.”

“No way,” she said. “So who else is coming, Gabriel? You said—”

“I didn’t say anything,” Gabriel said, looking anywhere but at Castiel.

Castiel accepted a cup of black coffee from Eileen with a nod of thanks. “Just tell us, Gabriel. At least so Eileen can start planning Christmas dinner.”

“Fine. Cousin Jude should be here around lunch. The twins’ flight is coming into Newark at seven tonight, so Castiel, can you send the limo for them, since you’re the only one Alan will listen to anymore?”

“Stop pouting, Gabriel. If you hadn’t asked him to take you to Coney Island at four in the morning you wouldn’t have lost summoning privileges.”

“Dude, that was last year! Isn’t he over it by now?”

“He is, but I’m not. It was rude and irresponsible.”

“Safer than an Uber.”

“Not as safe as staying home in the first place,” Castiel said. He darted a look at Mary, who was rinsing out clean coffee cups, and listening intently.

“Hey!” Claire cut in. “Can we get to the really important question, please? Is the Ancient One coming today?”

Castiel shot a glance at Gabriel, who nodded, the movement so tiny that only a brother would pick up on it. Shit.

“I really wish you’d stop calling her that,” Castiel said. “One day you’re going to say it automatically and she’s—”

“She’s going to what? Hate me? She already does. Which isn’t fair, I mean she hates me for totally the wrong reasons.”

Oh, God. Castiel saw the disaster coming and could do absolutely nothing to stop it. Still, he tried.

“Claire, enough. Go to your room and get dressed.”

“Not for my charming personality, but just because I’m mostly human, and honestly, seven-eighths is really not that bad, all things considered. And it’s not even my fault!”

“No, it’s not,” Gabriel said, throwing an arm around her. “Your dad just can’t stay away from humans, can he?” He winked at Castiel, which only made Castiel’s driving need to impale them both on the lower branches of the Christmas tree that much harder to resist.

Because he knew Mary had heard Claire’s declaration, and Gabriel’s follow-up. The two of them might have fucking coordinated it just to out the entire Novak family and run the Winchesters off. Which was about to happen, if he read the look on Mary’s face correctly.

“I am going to kill you both,” he said. “Leave. Now.”

They weren’t stupid. Claire and Gabriel ran.

Mary was holding her lips together so hard that they had gone white. She sidled around him and walked into the great room like she was going to her own execution, slow and steady but completely unwilling. It was just Castiel’s dumb luck that the sun was coming up through the east-facing floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the room in light, illuminating all the artwork, including the sigils on the walls that followed the borders of the room. All of them. Even the ones on the ceiling, which had been invisible the night before, when the main source of light was the Christmas tree.

She turned around, her hands out as if she were balancing on a tightrope, taking in the scope and breadth of the protection symbols surrounding her. She touched one of the sigils and Castiel felt a low thrum vibrate through the system. It was a good sign—it meant she had no harmful intentions and that she and the boys might fit in with the Novak family structure, in time. But probably not right now.

She finished a second sweep of the great room and stopped in front of Castiel, her lower lip trembling. “Come with me.” She headed to the terrace, and Castiel barely managed to sign the cantrip to open the wards before she threw open the double door and went outside into the cold. And it was cold. December in New York on the 44th floor of a skyscraper was nothing but biting wind and cold stone, and Mary’s feet were still bare. He wanted to put his arms around her and rub warmth into her feet, but it wouldn’t be welcome. He was out here for an ass-chewing.

With no warning at all, Mary slapped Castiel with what must have been all the strength in her arm, because the blow knocked him sideways a few paces, in time for Dean to come sprinting out of the penthouse and take a stance between them.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean said, now completely awake. Castiel glanced inside to see who’d gotten him up and saw Claire perched on one of the chairs, grinning. Why his daughter would execute a plan to push the Winchesters away when she’d spent months trying to lure them in was, at the moment, beyond Castiel, but it was a question for another time.

“Mary—”

“I took my boys halfway across the country to get away from hunters, and now you bring them right back into it. How could you do that? Did you think I wouldn’t know what those symbols mean? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for John Campbell’s sons to be exposed to this? How many monsters wanted to kill my husband and would be overjoyed to get hold of my boys? You son of a _bitch!_”

To Dean, she said, “We have to go. Immediately. Out the door in five minutes. Get Charlie, I’ll get your brother.”

“Wait, Mom, what’s going on? What did Castiel do?”

“It’s not what I did so much as what I am,” Castiel said. “But your mother will have to explain it. It’s not my place.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said. “We had this conversation last night, Cas. Tell me the truth, or I swear to God—”

“You’ll leave. And if I do tell the truth, your mother will leave with you and Sam, and you’ll all be walking into a world of creatures who are infinitely more dangerous than the ones your parents hunted.”

“You bastard. You fucking bastard,” Mary said. “That’s it. That’s my life. Gone. All I wanted was normal, and safe, and happy. And we were so close.”

Dean pulled Mary against him to keep off the worst of the chill. “Mom, you have to tell me what’s happening. Let’s go inside and get warm. If you want to slap him around some more, I’ll be happy to hold him down for you. Come on.”

He led her back into the penthouse and sat down on the sofa, pulling her onto his lap. He shifted to allow her access to his neck and she scented him for a long moment. Castiel couldn’t help but be a little envious; if he had an alpha like Dean, he’d damn sure be scenting him right now, too. Dean nodded to Castiel, who handed him a throw blanket from the pile draped over one of the armchairs.

“Okay,” Dean said into Mary’s hair, once he’d wrapped the afghan around her shoulders. “Are you ready?”

“No,” she said. “Go get Sam, please. I’m not telling this twice.”

Dean left Castiel and Mary alone to follow instructions. Claire had disappeared again, which didn’t surprise Castiel. She had to know how much trouble she was in.

“Castiel, do you have any idea what it took for me to leave my family?” Her face was white, her nose dark red from the cold of the terrace and from imminent tears.

He moved a few inches closer to her on the sofa. “I do know,” he said. “But when I found out that there was the possibility of a connection between our families, it was already too late. We had to find you and protect you.”

“From what?”

Dean and Sam pounded down the stairs, followed at a distance by Charlie and Claire, who stayed on the second floor balcony, leaning over as far as they could without endangering themselves. Castiel glared up at them both, and Charlie dragged Claire behind the curving wall, but he knew they were both listening.

Dean and Sam dropped on the sofa between Mary and Castiel, but Castiel could hear her just fine anyway. Dean held his mother’s hand and squeezed it to get her talking.

“I doubt you’ll believe this,” she said to Dean and Sam. “So I’ll make it quick, and we’ll get out of here. My family, the Winchesters, and your father’s family, the Campbells, have been feuding since just after the Civil War. Hatfields and McCoys, Montagues and Capulets. That sort of thing. To my knowledge, it came about because the Campbells taught their hunters to kill on sight, and the Winchesters had a more… well, a more liberal attitude towards their targets.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, but hunters? Targets? What—”

“Monsters, Dean. Things that go bump in the night. Werewolves, vampires, vengeful spirits, wraiths, ghouls, do you want me to keep going?”

“N—no. I’m having. A hard time,” Dean stuttered. “So. These things exist. And your family hunted them.”

“So did I. Winchesters started training early. It was harder on omegas once they presented—the scent was a giveaway in a lot of cases—but we were still useful as researchers. And bait.”

“Bait?” Sam squeaked.

“Yes. The more often you volunteered, the more respected you were as a hunter. I didn’t volunteer much, because I’d seen too many people die already, even by the time I presented as an omega. I helped with research, but mostly I went to school, I studied violin, just… wanting to be normal. I met your father, and he said he wanted that, too. Normal. I got pregnant, we eloped—I took my violin with me—and when I had you, Dean, I didn’t want to hunt at all anymore. I didn’t want your father to hunt, either, and I didn’t want you to grow up in the life.

“John did stop for a while, when I asked him to. But he got restless, and spent a lot of time gone, then lying to me about where he was.”

“Did you believe him?” Sam said.

“Was that where he was the night of the fire?” Dean said, his voice low and dangerous.

Mary nodded to both of them. “I was an idiot. I really was. I should have just…” She sighed, and leaned forward to put her head in her hands.

Dean said, “I’m sorry this is hard for you, and I’m still not quite believing we’re having this conversation, but why is this something we have to worry about now? You’re out of it, right? And so are we, I mean we’re not normal, but we’re not going around staking vampires.”

“Beheading.”

Mary and Castiel said it at the same time, and Mary clarified. “You kill a vamp by cutting off its head. Staking only makes it laugh at you before it rips your throat out.”

Castiel hummed in agreement, and Dean’s mouth dropped open by an inch or two.

“You’re not… you’re not a hunter, too—are you, Castiel?”

Castiel shrugged. The Winchesters weren’t leaving without getting the Novak side of the story, so there was no point wasting time. Especially if his mother was coming in the next few hours. Best get out fast.

“No, not technically, although the skill set is very similar. I’m a démoniste.”

“Sorry?”

“He’s a warlock,” Mary said, her blue eyes boring holes through Castiel’s skull that he could almost feel. “He’s a special kind of hunter. Tell him what you hunt, Castiel. Go on.”

“We hunt demons.”

The great room was completely silent while Dean and Sam absorbed the information. But Dean put the pieces together first.

“So the guy in Berlin. Az. That wasn’t a mask.”

Castiel shook his head, readying himself for the blow.

“It was a real demon?” Sam said, his voice small and hurt.

“It was a real demon,” Castiel said.

“You said you hunt them,” Dean said. “Did you kill it yet?”

“No. He’s been hiding for a very long time. And that’s all I can tell you.”

“Bullshit!” Dean said, pulling Castiel up by his shirt collar. His scent had shifted from a romantic fireplace to burning plastic, and it was making Castiel’s eyes water. “You can tell me a lot more than that! He took your sister first, and then he took Mom because of you, didn’t he? Because we tried to find you to—”

“Dean, stop!”

Sam’s high-pitched protest cut through his brother’s tirade, but Dean didn’t let go of Castiel’s shirt. Those startling green eyes were full of rage and betrayal, just like his mother’s had been, and Castiel could hardly blame him. To be so intimate so quickly, to establish such trust, such a promise of passion, and then to have it torn away.

“It wasn’t Castiel’s fault, Dean. It was my fault.”

Sam’s face was streaked with tears, a track of snot making its way down his upper lip. “I was the one who found Claire and made her tell her dad. If I’d just left you and Dean alone, Mom, you could have just had a nice walk in Berlin like you wanted and not…”

He burst into tears, curling in on himself like a skinny, damp pill-bug, and Castiel hadn’t seen anything quite so pitiful in a long, long time.

“Oh, no, baby, no!” Mary said, sitting beside him and hugging him tight. “Don’t you ever think that, do you hear me? Never, ever think that! You were doing what you knew I wanted, you were trying to make things better and there is no reason for you to blame yourself for anything. It’s okay. It’s okay.” She rocked him slowly, brushing his long bangs away from his wet, sweaty face.

Dean let go of Castiel’s shirt and pushed him away. He headed into the omega suite, and Castiel followed, to do what he could to keep Dean from running away with his family.

Dean was splashing water on his face in the bathroom, but Castiel could hear the hitch in his breathing. He was as much of a wreck as his brother was.

Castiel waited for Dean to come out of the bathroom to speak, but Dean got the first word in.

“You weren’t going to tell us about Az at all, were you?”

“His name is Azazel. And I had planned to… but it had to be done properly. Not by Claire stirring up trouble.”

“Don’t blame this on your daughter. As fucked up as she is, this is your dumpster fire, all the way. Jesus, Cas, what did you think was gonna happen when you brought us here? Did you think Mom would be okay with all this? Come on, you know way more about us than we know about you—you had to know about her family. And my dad’s.”

“I was hoping to talk to your mother privately first and let her tell you and Sam if she thought it was the right thing to do.”

“You thought she _wouldn’t_ tell us that a demon had abducted her?”

“It’s her right to keep secrets, Dean. And if she didn’t want anything to do with us afterward, then I’d have sent you all on your way with ten deep-cover bodyguards and permanent tracking spells woven into your DNA.”

Dean glared at him. “You’re serious.”

“Absolutely.”

“Dude, that is wrong on so many levels.” Dean pushed past Castiel to grab his bag and throw it on the bed. Without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, he whipped off his t-shirt and tossed it in the duffel bag, leaving him wearing only thin pajama pants that left nothing to the imagination. God, he was just beautiful, Castiel thought, his breath catching. Arms and chest still gold, even in brighter light, punctuated by the tips of perfect dark coral nipples, gentle curves on his abdomen that spoke of a six-pack waiting to show itself, hip bones teasing, sharp and tempting, and a trail of bronze hair climbing just above the low-slung waistband.

Castiel wondered how sensitive those pretty nipples were, and immediately thought of five ways to find out.

His scent must have changed, because Dean cursed and banged his head against the nearest bedpost.

“It could have been so awesome, Cas,” he said, his voice broken. “We could have been so fantastic together, all of us. Even your psycho daughter, she’d have been like Charlie, you know? Like the little sister I never wanted.”

“Does that have to be off the table?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. Tell me how I can fix this. Or how I can start. And put a shirt on.”

“Mom doesn’t like to be lied to. Manipulated. It’s one of those things she never put up with. Sam was better at it than I was, ‘cause he’s smarter, but she always figured us out. And then to find out she was keeping things from us our whole lives, it’s just. I don’t know.” He sat on the step leading up to the bed and let his head drop into his hands. Castiel wanted to stroke his hair, his shoulders, anything to offer comfort, but in the end he settled for telling the truth.

“She lied to keep you safe, and so did I,” Castiel said. “I never wanted to meet you again after Berlin. Or your mother. And the only reason you’re here is because Claire and Sam are determined and I was too weak to tell them no last night. I hoped that a small gathering would be enough to satisfy my daughter’s curiosity, because no matter how fond we might become of you, I could not put you at risk again. The closer you are to the Novak family, the closer you are to the center of the bull’s eye.”

“So what happens if…” Dean took a deep breath before finishing his sentence. “What happens if I want that.” Three steps from the bed, and all of a sudden Dean was overwhelming Castiel with his body, his lips, his scent. The flicker of a wood fire. Cedar and rosemary. Steak just off the grill. “If I want to get closer to the Novak family.”

Castiel didn’t have to look down to know that Dean’s cock was plumping up, but it was hard to resist the urge anyway.

“Then I’ll do everything I possibly can to protect you. And your family.”

With no warning at all, Gabriel bounced into the room and stopped as soon as he smelled the pheromones. He saw Dean, standing a foot away from Castiel, shirtless, with half a hard-on swelling in very thin pants.

“Ho-lee fuck! Get a load of the new alpha! Well, I think you’ve got to be Dean Winchester,” Gabriel said, holding out his hand. “And you’re in my room, so the least you can do is shake my hand. If I’m lucky, it’ll send you into rut and we can really give this room a workout.”

Dean offered his hand along with a half-grin that floored Gabriel, as Castiel knew it would.

“God. You can’t possibly let this one go, Castiel.”

“I’m hoping not. Let’s go talk to your mother, Dean. But dress first. Please.”

“Meh. Consider it optional,” said Gabriel.

Before Gabriel had a chance to make any more inappropriate comments, Mary came in to change, and didn’t speak to either Castiel or Gabriel as they left. The door shut, leaving Castiel on the wrong side.

He retreated to his bedroom-slash-office, where he dressed and packed, worried about what sort of trouble Gabriel was getting into, but mostly concerned about where he and Claire were going next, with or without the Winchesters. Better to disappear than to suffer through another holiday with his mother and daughter in the same building. Naomi really did loathe Claire, but Claire did everything she could to encourage the sentiment, and Castiel didn’t want to be in the middle of it again. It was going to be hell to separate from Dean and Mary, if Mary insisted on it; add Naomi to the mix and there wasn’t enough bourbon on the island of Manhattan to make this Christmas bearable.

He was usually more careful about packing, but in this case he knew that wherever the Novak family kept a nest, he would have a closet full of clothes, a freezer full of casseroles, and a well-stocked bar. He still had time to finish Christmas shopping for Claire—even Amazon had an elite service with airtight security, if you knew who to ask—and he could work from anywhere.

Going back upstate was tempting, as long as Naomi took Christmas with her to the penthouse. Claire had friends who stayed nearby during the winter recess—they might be persuaded to come visit if they could put up with her. Sometimes Castiel was surprised she had any friends at all. Which was his fault, more than anyone’s. Just because Claire’s mother was gone didn’t make his lack of parenting skills any more excusable.

He squared his tie, zipped up his suitcase and carried it downstairs, realizing on the way that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Before the concert? Lunch, yesterday? He poked his head in the kitchen and saw with relief that the bagels had rolled in, and the artful pile that Eileen had put together was too tempting to resist. Castiel grabbed half of one and toasted it, slapped on a smear of cream cheese, and inhaled it before anyone had time to warn him it was chock full of hot peppers instead of strawberries. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but Joey’s made custom bagels for certain customers, and Gabriel liked his with cheddar cheese and candied habaneros.

“Christ!” Castiel said, coughing. Eileen, who hadn’t left the kitchen since Gabriel arrived, handed him a glass of milk, and once he’d stopped choking on his own super-spiced saliva, he said, “Make sure Naomi gets one of those.”

“Will do,” she said, and he thought she actually might. Most of the extended family and staff were terrified of his mother, but Eileen had hunted banshees before coming to work for the Novaks, and wasn’t scared of much.

“Have the kids eaten?”

Eileen nodded, because she had just taken a bite of her own bagel and couldn’t chew fast enough. Eventually, she managed to sign, “Sam, Claire, and Charlie are all upstairs packing.”

“Claire’s packing? I didn’t tell her we were leaving.”

Eileen grinned and shrugged. _It’s Claire. What can you do?_

“Jesus.” Castiel was doing a lot of praying already that morning. He loped back up the stairs, trying to maintain a modicum of dignity. “Claire! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Her sneaky blonde head emerged from the doorway to her room. “Packing. I’m going with the Winchesters. No way am I staying here with the Ancient One coming. And Dad, they have a pool! And a beach! I saw pictures, it’s so beautiful!”

Fucking hell. Castiel felt his blood pressure rising and took a deep breath to ease it back down.

“You’re imposing on them, Claire. Who gave you permission?”

“I did, actually.”

Mary had come up behind him silently, reminding him that she had years of experience as a hunter before she quit, and if you live through that, there are certain skills that don’t go away. Like sneaking up on people.

Castiel turned to face her, utterly bewildered by the change in her tone.

“Is Sam better?” he asked.

“Overwhelmed, but bouncing back. Claire’s already introduced him to some esoterica about demons that he’s looking forward to reading on the way home.” She tutted when she saw the state of his tie, and loosened the knot slowly, slipping the ends free and smoothing them down over his chest before beginning the knot again. Castiel couldn’t figure out if she was going to actually retie it or choke him with it. “Were you planning to go into the office today? It’s Sunday, after all.” She finished the knot and brushed away a nonexistent spec of lint from his blue pinstripe jacket. “There. Now we know we can get you silly ties for Christmas.”

Holy shit. It actually seemed like she’d forgiven him.

Flustered by both her attentions and her change of heart, he managed to say, “I work remotely but… sometimes there are meetings that can’t wait for me to look civilized.”

“I can only imagine. So, we are happy to bring Claire home with us, provided you give her permission, and that you come with her. I’m not going to supervise your daughter on my own. I’ve known six-year-olds with more impulse control.”

Castiel laid a hand on hers so lightly that he could barely feel the heat of her fingers. “Did Dean talk to you?” It was impossible to tell who was doing what in this godforsaken penthouse unless you had eyes on them, and he’d been busy planning his getaway for a while.

“A little. So did Sam. They both seem to think we’ll be safer with you, and I don’t mean to insult your hospitality, but I want to go home. Just… no more lies, Castiel. No more sins of omission. If we’re going to be family, we have to get this all on the table. If you can’t promise me that, we’ll say good-bye now and I’ll be sad that it didn’t work out. Not everything does, right?” She stroked a lock of hair away from his temple, and he felt a knot of tension in his chest unravel. He hadn’t been touched like that in years.

Someone else approached him from behind, but he knew who it was immediately.

“What did he say?” Dean said to Mary, over Castiel’s shoulder.

“Hasn’t answered yet.”

Dean leaned in to murmur in Castiel’s ear. “Well, answer already. We can’t wait around all day. Do you promise not to be an asshole?”

Trapped as he was between the two most beautiful people he’d ever encountered, what else could he say?

“I promise.”

He was rewarded by a wave of sweet, smoky scent from both directions that almost made him dizzy. But promises were easy to make. He had to offer something else.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For Berlin. I didn’t know he was there, otherwise I would have found some way to keep you from going. We’ve been hunting him for a long time, and one of our sources gave us a tip that he was holding omegas in Berlin. I was hoping one of them would be my sister.”

“Ah. That’s why you asked if I was alone,” Mary said.

“Yes.”

“So when you say you’ve been after him for a long time, how long do you mean?” Dean asked. “The truth. You promised, Castiel.”

He’d promised.

“Since the year of our Lord 1202.”

He felt Dean’s breath catch, but Mary was the one who kept up the questioning; the woman was relentless.

“Your family’s been hunting demons since the thirteenth century.”

“Long before that. And so have I. But we started targeting him specifically in the 1200s. He took Hannah a year and a half ago.”

Dean stepped away from Castiel like he was contagious, but Mary gave him a long, considering look that took him in from head to toe and back.

“You’re in awfully good shape for an immortal, Castiel. I suppose you’ll tell us about that on the ride down?”

“I’m not an immortal. I simply have a very long lifespan. So will Claire.”

Dean swore under his breath, and said something that sounded like, “There goes the neighborhood.”

“You ought to see my mother’s birth certificate,” Castiel said.

“Mm, I think not,” Mary said. “And from what Claire says, I’m not sure I want to see your mother, either.”

“No one does,” Castiel said. “Speaking of. If you’ll still have our strange little family for Christmas, we should leave as soon as possible. Naomi—my mother—will be here before nightfall.”

“Not a problem,” Dean said. “Our stuff’s uptown, and I gotta get Baby out of the garage, but after that we’re free as birds.”

“Birds,” Mary said. “Remind me to ask you about the birds, Castiel.”

“I’m sure you’ll remember,” Castiel said. “Remind me to ask you why we’re driving. The family keeps a perfectly good private plane in—”

“No fucking way,” Dean said, and disappeared down the hall to tell the rest of the group the plan. Seconds later, he was going down the stairs, followed close behind by Charlie, who was ranting.

“You said I could stay and fly down later! I’m not done here, dude, we had this conversation last night. Come on, I’m in the kink capital of North America!”

“Actually, you’d have to go to Portland or San Fran for that, Red,” Gabriel interrupted from the bottom of the staircase. “But we do pretty good on the island, too.” He shoved his hand out as Charlie hopped down the last few steps of the staircase. “Gabriel Novak. Sounds like you need some help, dear one.”

“Charlie Bradbury. So, you’re Castiel’s brother? Cousin?”

“Brother.”

“Nice to meet you. And yeah, I need guidance, man, and time. The Winchesters are leaving town, and my own good bro Dean over there is saying I can’t stay to shop. Do you know how many sex stores there are in Manhattan? That’s not even counting Brooklyn and Queens!”

“There’s one in the Bronx that’ll blow your mind, baby.”

“Jesus, don’t encourage her,” Dean said.

Castiel stood against the balcony railing, grinning, with Mary close enough that he could feel the heat of her body against him.

“Well, surely you’ve got a couple of hours before you skip town. Right, Castiel?” Gabriel said, directing his question to the balcony.

“Yes, but—”

“Don’t give me any of that ‘increased security’ bullshit,” Gabriel said. “I’ll take her myself. I’m overdue for a shop, anyway. Get your coat, Pond!”

Charlie squealed and tore down the stairs to retrieve her coat and purse from the foyer. “Dean, pack my stuff! Gabriel, where are we going?”

“What do you need?”

“Well, my girlfriend’s a total size queen, and super stretchy, so—”

“The Leather Man it is. Call the limo for us, will ya Castiel? I’ll send it back once we get there, and drop your girl off in three, maybe four hours. Super stretchy, huh? So how stretchy are we talking, like Coke can stretchy, baseball bat stretchy, or—” His voice faded as the door closed.

“Oh God, I did not need to hear that,” Dean said, his head in his hands.

“It’s awfully early for a place like that to be open, isn’t it?” Mary said.

“Not in Manhattan,” Castiel said as he tapped the code on his phone to summon the limo. “Why? Do you want to go?”

Mary’s face flushed, but she didn’t say no.

“Maybe during your next visit. New York’s gorgeous in the spring. Are you packed?”

“Just about.”

Dean bounded up the stairs with the energy of a well-rested teenager, although Castiel knew for a fact that he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep.

“I’m ready when you are,” he said. “How are we getting uptown with all our stuff? Want me to book one of those big cabs?”

“No,” Castiel said. “We have another service on call.”

“Lemme guess. Special security measures.”

Mary put her hand on Dean’s arm and stroked it gently. “I’m inclined to agree with Castiel. It’s not that you can’t protect us, Alpha, but I’d rather you were paying attention to me rather than to potential threats.” She slid her hand behind his neck and pulled him down for a leisurely kiss that included a long sigh, a quiet groan, and more than a little tongue. Then she turned to Castiel and kissed the side of his mouth softly, taking time to brush her lips against his. “Castiel wants to scent me, Dean. Is that okay?”

“Fuck,” Dean said, his voice rough. “Yeah. Can I… can I watch?”

“Aw man, you guys are disgusting!”

Claire charged through the threesome, followed by Sam, who seemed to agree with her.

Dean pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, and said, “You guys are gonna fucking kill me.”

Castiel was of the opinion that he’d be the first one to go.

He finished packing his business equipment and argued with Claire about bringing her coat, since she insisted that Florida was warm enough without one and who cared about the trip down. By the time the shuttle called up to the penthouse, he had managed to get the image of Dean and Mary kissing out of his mind enough to coordinate the loading of the vehicle, giving the driver the address of the Winchesters’ rental.

With Eileen and the driver helping, packing up the shuttle didn’t take long. They were on their way uptown by nine, Claire bouncing in her seat with excitement for the whole ride. The Winchesters finished their own packing in the apartment while Castiel made arrangements to have his own car brought to the building. He had to hand it to his staff; they handled surprises like they’d been planned months in advance.

“Dad, you’re not going to work,” Claire said, after giving his clothes a disapproving sniff. “You really could just leave the suit and coat. And did you even bring a bathing suit?”

“No,” Castiel said, looking out the window by force of habit more than anything else. He wasn’t about to let his guard down during a transport to argue with his daughter when there would be ample time to do it later.

Dean practically danced out of the shuttle car with no regard at all for personal safety, jangling his keys and announcing his intention to get Baby and be back in half an hour. Castiel couldn’t catch him, and had to hope that his exuberant alpha attitude—and size, God, had he grown overnight?—would keep threats at bay until he got back and Castiel could remind him what can happen to Novaks when they’re not paying attention. And Dean was his nephew, after all.

Which should have bothered Castiel on some level, given that he was determined to fuck the young man into any nearby mattress at the first opportunity, but as he’d told Dean the night before, Novaks had always been deviants, and Castiel was no exception. Perversion came with the territory.

Gabriel, Deviant the First of their Novak generation, dropped off Charlie an hour later, leaving her with a huge black shopping bag and a slightly glazed look in her eyes. “I had no idea. Really. No idea at all. And I think I maybe maxed out my credit card. But Dorothy is going to lose her mind when I get home. So it’s all good!” She hugged Gabriel, and Gabriel hugged Castiel, thumping him hard on the back.

“I’ll keep you in the loop,” he said to Castiel on his way out. “Have yourself a merry little Christmas, bro! And film everything. I’m not into chicks, but Mary fucking Winchester? Hell, yes!”

Yeah. Deviants.

Mary herself came gliding into the living room, hair barely held back by a woefully overloaded clip, wearing a blue patchwork dress that swirled around her knees and the top of her leather boots. The first thing Castiel wondered was what it would look like hiked up to her hips, and the second thing was what she was wearing underneath it.

“Did someone call me?” she said.

Castiel coughed. “Gabriel said good-bye, and it was good to meet you.”

She smiled. “I hope I get to see him sometime when we’re not running away from your mother. He seems like a lot of fun.”

“He can be, under the right circumstances. So enlighten me, Mary. Who’s Baby?”

“Oh. _Oh._ Dean’s gone to get the car. He must be ready to go.”

“He seemed like it.”

“I’m ready too!” Charlie joined them, nodding towards the couch, where Claire had flopped as soon as the group came in and promptly fallen asleep. “Want me to wake her up?”

“Not just yet,” Castiel said. He sat next to his sleeping daughter and took the rare opportunity to stroke her hair while they waited for Dean and Sam. Her mouth was open, letting a tiny trickle of drool land on the sofa cushion. God, she needed help. She needed something. She was thirteen, and would be a teenager for a long while yet. Surely there was time for them to connect on some real level, and he owed it to Claire and Amelia to try harder. A lot harder. Damned if he had any idea how. He couldn’t exactly ask his mother for parenting advice, and some things you just couldn’t fucking Google.

Mary tapped him on the shoulder. “Dean’s back. Your driver’s on his way up to help with bags. Again. The man’s a jewel.”

“Hey, I’m a jewel, too,” said Sam from behind her, sliding his hands around her waist and giving her a long, breath-stealing hug. Obviously the Winchesters had no issues with attachment, although there was no way to know how it had been when John Campbell was still alive.

“All right, then, prove it,” she said, gently disengaging from Sam’s embrace. “Let’s load up—quietly—and maybe we can let Claire get a few more minutes of sleep. Castiel, you stay right where you are.”

Castiel waited by his daughter while bags and people got shuffled around, until Mary returned to tell him it was finally time to go. He jiggled Claire’s shoulder, which made her sit up straight and look around for something to kill.

“Easy,” he said. “Are you ready? This was your idea, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m in Baby with the cool kids,” she said with an enormous yawn. “But it only seats five. You guys can do whatever.”

“It’s covered. Mary, would you do me the honor of driving with me? My car seats four, but two is comfortable. And your instrument, of course.”

“Of course,” Mary said with a soft smile. “Am I being handled, Castiel?”

“You’re being invited.”

“Well, then. All right.”

Down the elevator they went, out into the lobby, and finally onto the covered sidewalk, where Dean was leaning against a sleek black monstrosity of a vehicle, arms crossed, an honest-to-God smirk on his face. Mary shook her head.

“He’s been waiting to get back behind the wheel since the moment he parked her,” Mary said. “I’m pretty sure it’s his spirit animal.”

“I can see why.”

“It looks awfully good on him, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, his voice cracking a little. Mary was kind enough not to mention it.

“Before you ask, it’s a 1967 Chevy Impala,” Dean announced. “Yes, it’s in cherry condition. Yes, I rebuilt her from the wheels up. And the rule is, driver picks the music—”

“Shotgun shuts his cakehole,” said Sam and Charlie together, mostly to Claire, who wasn’t paying attention.

“Holy shit, this thing is gorgeous!” she squealed. “I get to ride in this? Holy shit!”

“Language,” Castiel admonished, uselessly.

Claire’s enthusiasm had chipped away at the ice between her and Dean, and by the time the group had divided and packed the two cars, Castiel thought there was a good chance they would make it to Florida in one piece.

“Mary, your chariot awaits,” he said, with a nod to the car that had just pulled up to the curb in front of the Impala.

“Is that… oh, God, can I drive it?” she whispered. “Pretty please?”

“When we get out of the city, you may absolutely drive it.” Castiel was proud of his Rolls and didn’t get behind the wheel very often; this was going to be a pleasure on many levels.

“That’s fair.”

Dean ran his hand down the car’s night-blue hood like he was petting a thoroughbred. “Cas, is this a Ghost? Shit, man, what’s she got underneath?”

“Let’s talk about it later. I sense my mother approaching and I don’t see a convenient house that will fall on her in time for us to leave town.”

“Do you really—”

“No, Dean. I have no second sense to alert me to her presence, and if I did, I would make every effort to disable it. Shall we go?”

“Wait!” Charlie grabbed Dean’s worn leather jacket just before he got into the Impala. “Picture! Fluff!”

“Oh, God,” Dean said unhappily. “Fine, let’s do this and get home already. Sammy!”

They handed Charlie’s phone to Alan, the ubiquitous Novak driver, and squeezed together to fit in front of the two cars. Somehow Castiel ended up on one end of the lineup next to Sam, and Claire was smooshed between Dean and Mary, whose opposite arm had been appropriated by Charlie. As the driver encouraged them all to get closer, Castiel felt Dean’s hand slip under the collar of his overcoat with a warm, confident touch that made Castiel seriously consider the benefits of throwing him in the Ghost with his mother and stopping at the first hotel they could find outside city limits. He refrained.

A brief discussion of directions followed, made easier by Charlie, who volunteered to navigate. Mary promised to find them somewhere to stay for the night, and after hugging her sons, she slid into the Ghost’s passenger seat as if she’d been born there.

Making their way through the tangle of outbound traffic seemed easier than usual, and Castiel gave Mary’s calm presence the credit for it. And once they’d left the city several miles behind, even the niggle of worry about letting his daughter ride with strangers dissolved. After all, the Winchesters weren’t really strangers anymore.

They were family—almost.


	18. On the road

The first few hours of the drive were quiet, since Mary fell asleep as soon as they got through the Holland Tunnel and onto the freeway. It helped that the Rolls was a silent ride, and the only thing to listen to was a laid-back blues playlist that Castiel brought out when he couldn’t legally drug someone into a peaceful state of mind. It never worked on his daughter, but it seemed fairly effective on Mary.

When Mary woke up an hour or so later, she blinked her eyes hard and took a second to remember where she was. She didn’t seem at all disconcerted about it, which was promising. She glanced in the back seat to make sure her violin was secure, took a long drink from her water bottle, and checked her phone.

“All good?” Castiel said.

“Yes. Charlie’s already found a gay-friendly bed and breakfast in North Carolina, which means it’s probably okay with other odd couples, too. Not… not literal couples. Just odd couples, like the—”

“I understand, Mary. Figure of speech.”

“Yes. She’s gone and booked the entire house.”

“Excellent. Does she have an ETA for us?”

Mary shot off a text and received an answer back almost immediately. “Ten p.m. They’ll have a late dinner ready for us, but Claire’s complaining about it. Says you’ll have security issues with strangers.”

“She’s right, but we’ll handle it from here. Tell them I’ll get Gabriel to vet the place. He’ll welcome any assignment that keeps him away from Naomi for twenty minutes.”

Mary made a vaguely assenting sound and sent the message. He gave her the number for Gabriel’s secure line and she made the call, then offered the phone to Castiel. He shook his head.

“He’ll walk over coals for you, Mary. Just tell him what needs to be done. And that it needs level four clearance.”

She did, obviously pleased at being included in the inner sanctum of the Novak family, and Castiel listened to the conversation, grinning at Gabriel’s joyful greeting of “As I live and breathe, Mary fucking Winchester! On my phone! What can I do for you this lovely day?”

Once they had settled that business, she played with the Ghost’s navigation touch screen and programmed in the hotel’s address, checked traffic, fiddled with the heat and vents, took another drink of water, hunted for her hair clip, and texted with someone for a good ten minutes before finally heaving a dramatic sigh that would have made Claire grab a pen and take notes.

“Castiel, we have hours upon hours together in this car. Are you going to talk?”

“Of course. Tell me what you want to know.”

“It’s…I don’t want to make it sound like there’s anything wrong with it, because God knows I’m hardly one to talk but…Claire said she’s seven-eighths human. What’s the other part?”

That didn’t take long.

“Claire’s mother was fully human,” he began. “The non-human part of her comes from me.”

“Go on.”

“Mary, hunters don’t usually want to hear about half-breeds. Most of them will take out anything that smells remotely supernatural, no matter how harmless the creature might be. Forgive me if—”

“If you’re hesitant? Consider yourself forgiven. But I’m a Winchester. My family has never found it necessary to kill on sight, except the one nest of white nationalist vamps, and that was because they were fascists, not vamps. I don’t think you’re one of those. So if you can’t trust me with your secrets, then just pull over at the next rest area and let me the hell out of your pretty car. I’ll squeeze in with Dean and the kids.”

“We are descended from angels.”

“You’re. Oh,” she said, her defensiveness disappearing like air let out of a balloon. “I didn’t think those were really… real.”

“If demons are real, why wouldn’t angels be?”

“Point taken.” She leaned back in the seat to absorb the new information. “How old are you?”

“You’ve heard of the Book of Kells?”

She choked on nothing, then managed to say, “Yes.”

“I worked on it before I presented, the year I turned eighty-four. Then they made me leave. Betas only.”

“You were eighty-four when you presented.”

“The more angel in you, the longer the lifespan, and the longer it takes to present.”

“Jesus.”

“He was human.”

“No, I mean—”

Castiel laughed. “I know what you meant.”

“I should be having a hard time with this, and it’s not that I don’t believe you, just that…” She put her hand on Castiel’s leg, just the fingertips, as if she needed some kind of physical contact but didn’t want to go too far. “Never mind. Thank you for telling me. It makes my problems seem a little trivial, compared to yours. Hey, do you have any special powers? Healing, or maybe—”

“I can’t fix you, Mary. Healing myself is fairly straightforward, since my body does it on its own, just faster, and I’ve got a knack for combat first aid, but internal disorders? No.”

“Anyone else in your family?”

Castiel’s mind flickered to his brilliant, kind Hannah, who might have concocted a cure for Mary’s problem in her workshop of exotic potions and esoterica. And then he thought of what that cure might do to Dean. “No. Think of us more as avenging angels.”

“Oh. So you live a very long time, and you’re good at keeping people alive under fire. No other special abilities?”

“Just centuries of experience. It helps with almost everything—parenting excluded.”

“Does it?” Her voice was softer, and her light, fruity scent suffused the car, boosted by a deeper layer that reminded him of a raspberry liqueur Gabriel concocted one year to celebrate a bumper crop. It wasn’t hard to guess what she was thinking. _Can you give me what I need?_

“Yes. It absolutely does.”

He kept one eye on the road and one on her, watching with delight as her chest rose when she took her next, very deep, breath. She moved to roll down the windows, but Castiel stopped her.

“Please don’t,” he said. “I love your scent. And I hope to have Dean in here tomorrow. I want him squirming.”

Mary looked away, but he thought she was probably smiling.

“He’s a wonderful man, Mary. You already know that, of course, but you don’t see him from the outside of your family circle very much. Loyal, protective, hard-working, intelligent. Exquisite taste in women.”

“Castiel, are you going to seduce my son?”

“Would you like me to?”

A long silence followed his question. Finally, she said, “Last night was the first time we shared a bed since Berlin. For months, I just… I just couldn’t. He was so patient, so damned decent about the whole thing. And last night in my dressing room, what you must have seen—”

“I saw two people giving pleasure to each other. Hurting no one.” Castiel couldn’t stop the image of Dean’s come trickling out of his mother to run down his balls, couldn’t stop the memory of their mingled scents luring him down hallways and through a closed door.

“I know. But I feel like I’m hurting him. Taking things away, taking his future away. So if a relationship with you will divert him to someone more appropriate than me, then yes, I would like you to seduce my son. I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

“How am I more appropriate than you? I'm his uncle.”

“Which is not as close as a mother to a son. I'm nineteen years older than him, Castiel. And I don't want more children.”

“I'm centuries older than him, and I don't want more children, either.”

“But if he becomes deeply attached to you, maybe he'll decide that twice a year with me is enough to meet his obligation. It’s not often enough to bond again, or, God forbid, encourage mating, which he still wants.”

“But if we discover that I can fulfill your needs, due to closer blood ties than my brothers, the two of you will not need to couple at all. I suspect he won’t be happy about it; you know his bond with you is more than just a cold obligation to assist a woman in need. And Mary, this all revolves around your willingness, your desire, to make an effort with me. To become lovers. And we haven't discussed it. Not really.”

“I'm… not sure,” she said, looking out the window at the winter-brown fields of Virginia flying by them.

“Of course. Anyone would be reluctant under the circumstances. Do you trust me yet?”

Mary laughed. “You mean more than I did last night? Well, I'm in a car with my million-dollar Stradivarius and a man I've known for less than a day. I think that demonstrates an adequate amount of trust, Castiel.”

He grinned.

“You're probably right. But if I put my hand on your knee, you wouldn't allow it.”

“How do you know?”

He glanced down and saw that her skirt had ridden up to expose her bare knees. Given what she had just said, he had to take it as an open invitation. Still, he had to be sure.

"I need something from you, Mary. A promise."

"Yes."

"Do you even know what it is?"

"Yes. I'll tell you to stop, if it becomes necessary. I promise. But I want to try, I think. I owe you that much. And him, too."

So he laid his hand on her knee, the skin soft, smooth, and warm, and felt an immediate shock of recognition, a sense of déjà vu, that he'd been in this car, with this woman before. He was remembering Amelia, of course, and the early days of their courtship, but it wasn't a bad comparison. The same keen excitement, the same tension rolling through his body, and when Mary put her hand over his, he felt his cock twitch and wished he hadn’t worn close-fitting trousers.

"Castiel," Mary said, and nodded towards the speedometer, which had ramped up to ninety in the last few moments.

"Shit, sorry." He dropped his speed back down to seventy-five and saw a quick, pleased smile dart over her face.

She stroked his hand gently while they drove, and it appeared that neither of them really wanted to talk much more just then. The physical contact was turning Castiel into a complete idiot, and the possibility that he shouldn't be driving did occur to him, but he couldn't stop. All he wanted was to get to the halfway point, unload their luggage, and carry Mary off to the nearest bed. Locking the door was completely inconsequential at this point. If Dean wanted to watch, he could. As a matter of fact...

"There's a rest area ahead," he said. "Do you—"

"Yes," she said. "But I need you to stay in the car with Maria while I go inside, and then we can switch. Okay?"

"Understood. Absolutely."

When they opened the car doors at the rest area, the relatively fresh air gave him a chance to clear his head. That was part of the problem, obviously, he thought. Two omegas in a small car throwing off pheromones in a feedback loop that was turning downright lethal; well, it was a good thing they had stopped. It wouldn't prevent further escalations, but it would help.

Mary returned to the car after a few minutes, her face and hair damp from whatever attempt she had made to literally cool down.

"Sorry," she said. "I think I'm pushing my luck with you. Your turn."

He had a hard time walking away from her, maybe because he knew what she had been through and didn't want to leave her without a guardian, or maybe because he just wanted her to be his. His, and no one else's. He wondered how Dean would feel about that.

He took care of immediate matters and then tore a page from Mary's book and splashed water on his face and neck before he rejoined her. He thought he actually had a handle on things when he neared the car and caught another whiff of strawberries. His legs moved on their own, turning him forty-five degrees to the other side of the car, straight into Mary Winchester's waiting arms.

Her lips yielded to him beautifully, soft and warm, her mouth slightly open to allow his tongue inside, where he discovered that her mouth was hot and sweet, her saliva a little spicy, and oh, fuck, it was going to feel so goddamned good around his cock. He circled her waist and pulled her to him with one arm, stroking her face with the other hand and recognizing Dean's curved cheekbones and perfect jawline under his fingers. She responded by sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him down to deepen the kiss, pressing her hips against his in an unmistakable suggestion. He leaned against her until they hit the door of the Ghost together, then slipped his fingers under the hem of her skirt, lifting it up enough to allow his knee to fit between her legs, and when he felt her grind against his solid thigh, he hardly cared that they were in public, or that his pants leg was quickly becoming damp with her slick.

“Mary,” he growled in her ear, “I want to claim you, take you right now in front of all these people, lay you down over the hood of my car, lift your beautiful dress and spread your legs, put my mouth on you and make you scream for me. I forbid you from ever wearing trousers again, I want you open, always ready for me, wet and—”

“Castiel, stop,” she said, gasping, still moving against his leg as though she couldn’t control her hips, “we have to go somewhere else, this is—”

"Hey fucknut!"

Something sharp hit the back of his head, and for a split second he couldn't pull himself away long enough to understand what was happening, and neither could she—her blue eyes were glowing omega gold from pure arousal, but it faded quickly when the situation became clearer. They'd been seen, and smelled, by someone who actually gave a shit what designation screwed which. Omegas weren't supposed to fuck omegas, and alphas weren't supposed to fuck alphas. Betas were lucky and could have whomever they wanted, but for the majority of the population in the United States, sex was for procreation. Anything outside that was inappropriate at best, and flat-out illegal in some states. Since omegas couldn't usually impregnate each other...

He turned and faced the guy who had thrown the stone. He was a beta, not as tall as Castiel, and even from twenty feet, he stank of fake alpha pheromones and a sweaty, unwashed nutsack.

"Hey back, assbutt," Castiel said, standing his ground.

"Castiel," Mary whispered. "We need to leave. Right now."

"Fuckin' freaks," the man said, joined by two of his traveling companions. "Lady, you don't need no omega faggot to get you off. My friend here has a knot that'd fill your hole right up, and I got a cock that's just screaming to get shoved down your throat. I bet little Davy here would even take a crack at your asshole, too. Come on home with us, we'll fuck you real good when you get that next heat!”

Castiel felt Mary’s whole body seize up then shudder with rage. She pushed him aside and walked straight up to the first asshole, showing no fear whatsoever. It was absolutely magnificent.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Mary, you're right, we have to go,” Castiel said, worried primarily about her hands and not at all about the general health of the assholes once he was done with them. “Get in the car, I’ll—”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” she demanded. “What makes you think I would _ever_ take your friend's knot? I would rather use a plastic one from a fucking trash can before I opened my legs for any one of you dickless douchebags! Why don't you come over here and let me show you what a real knot feels like, I've got one in the car the size of a watermelon, you wanna find out how it feels to get it shoved up your ass? If I do it right we’ll see it come right up out of your fucking throat!”

She lunged at the men, who actually took a step back in the face of the omega’s explosion of rage, and Castiel whipped an arm around her waist and dragged her back to the car. He threw open the door and pushed her into the seat, then closed the door and faced the three men who’d accosted them.

“Well?” he said. “Obviously I have better things to do with my time, so are you coming after me, or what?”

The sweaty, juiced-up beta obliged him by charging, making things ever so much easier. Castiel pivoted, shifting his weight to avoid the direct path of the man’s attack. He grabbed the man’s wrist as he passed by and jammed his thumb into the back of the beta’s hand, separating the metacarpals and making him scream from the unexpected pain, gave the wrist a three-quarter twist, and led the man down, pinning him to the concrete with a knee to his shoulder. The sickening crunch made Castiel think he might have used a little more force than necessary, but the guy had interrupted an extremely sensitive moment, insulted and scared his omega—_his_—and the son of a bitch was getting off easy. After that, the other two men wisely stayed away and let Castiel get back in the Ghost with no further trouble.

Mary had already buckled her seatbelt and seemed to have composed herself, but as Castiel merged onto the highway, he saw that she was shaking.

“Mary. Are you all right? Check your hands.”

“They’re fine. They didn’t get anywhere near trouble. Thank you for beating the shit out of that man. What was that, jiu jitsu? I barely saw you move before he hit the ground.”

“Aikido. I’ve had some time to explore the martial arts, and while there are applications for all of them, aikido is by far my preferred method of neutralizing aggressive asshats. So I didn’t beat the shit out of him. He’ll have shoulder problems the rest of his life, but no internal injuries. I can go back for another round if you like, but I’d prefer not to involve the authorities today.”

She agreed, and they left the rest area behind, zooming through Virginia with their hands meeting in the middle console, Castiel soothing her tremors with soft strokes of his thumb over her wrists and knuckles.

“Did you really call that guy an assbutt?” Her hands were still trembling, but Castiel got the impression she was coming down from the adrenaline high. Which was good. The last thing he wanted to do was deliver an agitated Mary back to her family; Dean would never leave him alone with her again.

“I did.”

“Can I keep asking questions? There’s so much more I need to know.”

“Of course.”

She took a long sip from her water bottle and held it up to her forehead to cool down. “Lineage, for one. My husband’s father Zachariah, was he a full angel?”

“Zachariah wasn’t quite a full angel, and neither is Naomi. There’s human blood in the Novak line from matings several centuries ago, even though back then the idea of breeding with a human was thought to be absurd, for the most part. She can’t do anything about her own impure blood, but it’s maddening to her that imperfect angels, like our family, continue to reproduce with full humans. So when your husband was born from a union between my father and his human lover, Naomi was infuriated for all kinds of reasons, not just infidelity. But since no one was privy to the last conversation she had with my father, we don’t know what she thought his worst betrayal was, and we don’t know whether she lobotomized him on purpose or as a crime of passion. Either way, she didn’t kill him, and in human courts there’s no way to prove she did it, so—”

“Lobotomized him,” Mary said, her voice a little wobbly. “Literally? Surgically?”

“No. A long time ago she developed the ability to channel a sort of psychic electricity, and of course—since she’s a sociopath in the purest sense of the word—she weaponized it.”

“And this woman is a… a half-grandmother to my sons? She’s family.”

“She is, through marriage to their grandfather. I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing her hand gently to emphasize the apology.

“But since Sam and Dean are blood through Zachariah, that makes them part angel as well.”

“Yes. It’s diluted, since their grandmother and mother are fully human, but the connection is there.”

“What does that mean? In terms of lifespans, abilities, weaknesses. How are they different from full-blooded humans? Dean presented at fourteen, which is normal for humans. Sam hasn’t presented at all yet. And Claire has more of it in her blood than they do, right?” She was watching him now, instead of the road ahead. Evaluating. Calculating.

“Yes, and there’s really only one way to find out what they might have,” he said. “Wait and see. I’m still wondering if something will show up in Claire, aside from her spectacular ability to antagonize people, including her grandmother.”

“And you said Naomi developed her ability, so she wasn’t born with it. Does that mean you’ll have one later in your life? And my boys will, too?”

“As I said, we’ll have to wait and see. In any case, whatever appears will most likely make it easier for them to protect themselves and others from the risks involved with being part of the Novak family.”

“You mean demons.”

“Primarily, yes.”

“But I’ll be gone by then anyway. I won’t know what happens to them. What they become.”

“The only way to know that would be to outlive them. And you don’t want that.”

“No. Of course not.” She turned her hand palm up and let him lace their fingers together as he drove. For a moment, it felt as though they had been friends forever.

An hour of silence later, she asked to drive.

Dean’s troop rolled into the long driveway of the Bogie & Bacall Bed & Breakfast, also known as the B4, and tumbled out of the Impala right on schedule. The house was a two-story Victorian that looked like a dollhouse, with steeply gabled roofs, round turrets, and weird, unexpected balconies jutting out from the upper-story windows. After the carefully planned urban palaces Dean had seen over the last week or so, he liked this house a lot, and he liked the hospitality even more. The couple who ran the place greeted them like family, one woman shushing Charlie when she apologized for their late arrival, and the other drooling appropriately over the Impala.

As the two women sent a young man out to help with luggage, the group was tempted into the house by the promise of clean bathrooms and the smells of chicken soup, fresh-baked biscuits of one kind or another, and hot apple cider. Before he even ducked into a bathroom, Dean texted both Mary and Castiel to find out their location and ETA, but before he had a chance to hit send, the Ghost glided silently into the driveway and parked next to the Impala.

Mary got out from the driver’s side with her violin, tossed Castiel the keys, and kissed Dean on the cheek, smelling of nervous, irritated omega. Dean couldn’t imagine why, but she went straight inside to Charlie, robbing him of a proper greeting. Charlie apparently smelled Mary’s distress the moment she crossed the threshold, and brought the older woman into the circle of her arms with no questions asked.

Dean jogged down the few steps to meet Castiel at the car. “Cas? What the hell?”

“We ran into some trouble in Virginia,” Castiel said. “A highly aggressive beta on some kind of artificial alpha pheromone had a problem with omegas. Omegas together, specifically. He had a couple of friends who seemed to agree.”

“But you’re not—”

“We were, actually. But it was just a kiss.”

“You are one shitty liar.”

“So I’ve been told. We handled it and got back on the road, but your mother’s been a little wound up, and I think she just wants to smell a female. A female alpha will be even better. I’m glad Charlie’s here.”

“Me too,” Dean said, fighting a wave of jealousy strong enough to get Castiel’s attention. Castiel said nothing at first, but put a hand on Dean’s neck and massaged the muscles, working out some of the tension from the long drive.

Dean gave Charlie an unwarranted glare, which she answered by gesturing to her own body, top to bottom, behind Mary’s back. _What’s the big deal? You can’t shut this down, brother._ It made him grin, despite his mother’s rejection, and when Castiel pulled him a little closer, his resentment vanished.

“You did a wonderful job today,” Castiel said, leaning his forehead against Dean’s. “Thank you for keeping our family safe.” Dean was close enough to smell his mother entwined with Castiel’s dark chocolate cream, a little sexual tension from whatever kiss they had shared, but mostly the comfortable melding of compatible people who’d spent hours in a car together.

Mary slipped back outside onto the steps and into their loose embrace, greeting Dean properly by grazing her lips over his scent gland. Jesus. Here he was, one alpha with two omegas, both stunningly beautiful, brilliant, sensual, and maybe trustworthy, although given the kinds of secrets they’d been keeping from him, that remained to be seen.

And if they’d kissed each other on the trip down? Fuck. He could hardly blame them. He would have done the same with either one. Or both.

“Come on, darlings,” Mary said, sweeping soothing touches over the men’s shoulders. “We’ve got to get some real food.”

“Showers,” said Castiel.

“Beds,” said Dean.

“All of the above,” Charlie said from inside the house. “The brats are almost done inhaling dinner. Your room is on the top floor. Third door on the right. Just get in here already, you’re letting heat out.”

“Room?” Castiel said. “Are we all on the top floor?”

“You’re all in the same room, Castiel; it’s the only one big enough for the three of you. Honestly, can we just stop being coy about this? The rest of us are on the second floor—Sam and Claire are sharing bunk beds and I’ve got one of those princess canopy beds with a ginormous clawfoot tub I won’t even have time to use, but Dorothy and I will just have to come back, you know?”

It turned out that she was serious about the size of their room. It was huge, over-the-top romantic, and had a king-sized bed that was more than big enough even for Dean’s aggressive cuddling maneuvers. None of the staff questioned the arrangements, and if they had, Dean would have offered very specific directions for depositing their pearls once they finished clutching them.

After what felt like another week, the basics were taken care of, including dinner, good-nights to the teenagers, and undressing for bed. All three sneaked glances at the others, Dean himself hoping that Castiel slept shirtless. Unfortunately, he was wearing a shirt tonight, although Dean did get a brief eyeful of ripped abdominal muscles, hipbones that Charlie could have set up a line of shots on, and two or three shadows that strongly suggested Castiel was hiding tattoos. Dean was going to have to use his imagination for a while longer though, because Cas situated himself on the far side of the bed from Dean and opened his slim laptop, leaving a generous space between him and Dean for Mary.

But Mary had hidden in a corner of the room to change, keeping her distance from the men, her scent and posture still strained even after two helpings of the world’s best comfort food. She sat on one of the velvety wing-backed chairs for a minute or two, stood up and brushed her teeth for the second time, then leaned against the doorway to the bathroom, arms crossed over her chest.

“I think I’ll room with Charlie tonight,” she announced, as if abandoning the men was no big deal.

Dean sat up. “Did I fart?”

She laughed. “No, and if you did, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Is it the asshole from the rest stop? Because we’re adults, you know? We’ll keep our distance, it’s a pretty big bed.”

“No. It’s just that—”

“Mary. We’ve had enough secrets, don’t you think?” Castiel said quietly, over the top of the honest-to-God spectacles he had donned when Dean wasn’t paying attention. “You can tell us things. You can tell us everything, if you want.”

“I don’t think…”

In a rare burst of insight, Dean realized what had gotten her worried, and he hopped down from the bed to put his hands on her shoulders. She was still vibrating, and it killed him that he couldn’t soothe her with a single touch. With more practice, maybe he’d be able to one day.

“You don’t have to please us, Mom,” he said. “Here, solid proof.” He pulled her in gently and let her scent him, giving her nothing more than freshly-showered neutral masculinity. No lust, no anticipation. Just himself. He turned her to face Castiel, who set his laptop aside and held out his hand. She went to him obediently and scented him too.

“If you wanna give Charles the thrill of her life, or kick Sam out of his bunk, or find a sofa, that’s okay,” Dean said. “But you don’t have to run from us, and you don’t ever have to do anything you aren’t a hundred percent excited about. You can just climb under the covers and go to sleep, because honestly, I don’t think anyone can get up to much tonight anyway.”

“Speak for yourself, young man.” Castiel’s dark, rough voice sent a few shivers down Dean’s spine, until the man said, “I’m joking, of course. Come to bed, Mary. Let me pet you for a while.”

“Okay,” Mary said. She slid into bed, taking up a spot in the middle, and Dean followed, leaving her plenty of wiggle room.

She wiggled a lot, just like she’d done the night before.

“Mom,” he said, after ten minutes of this. “Settle down, we gotta drive again tomorrow.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Sorry.” He stroked his mother’s hair and heard her hum softly, pleased at her alpha’s attention. “Love you.”

“Love you, baby,” she murmured, turning over to face him and tuck her head under his chin. He scooted closer to her, which put him within arm’s reach of Castiel.

“I wish you’d been there today, Dean. We would have absolutely wrecked those bastards,” he said.

“Stop trying to turn my son into a brawler, Castiel,” Mary said, but Dean could hear the smile in her voice even through the fatigue.

“I would never,” Castiel said, running his hands through Dean’s hair almost the same way his mother did, and it had the same effect. Between the sleepy, peaceful scents of his mother and his uncle, and the envelope of heat they had thrown around him, Dean was out in seconds.

* * *

Dean woke slowly, hard as diamonds and already moments away from orgasm, rutting against the sheets with the kind of erection that could go off like a Roman candle given the right kind of attention, which happened to be in bed next to him. Castiel was plastered against Dean’s back, ass, and legs, stuck fast by heat and a thin film of sweat. Mary wasn’t in the room, but he could still smell her, as though she’d left just a few minutes before. He pressed back against the equally hard cock that had wedged itself between the tops of his thighs.

“You guys smell like chocolate-covered strawberries," he mumbled. "Gonna be hard for the rest of my fucking life.”

“’M fine with that,” Castiel growled into Dean’s ear, then Dean felt Castiel’s hand massage his ass through the thin cotton of his boxers. “Shit,” he said, and like it had before, the profanity out of Castiel’s mouth made Dean shiver and push back harder. “Sorry. I’m not awake enough to be polite.” He withdrew his hand, but Dean pulled it back, wrapping Castiel’s arm around his waist.

“Something’s awake,” Dean said, shifting his hips to make his interest about as clear as it could be. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was interested in, but it definitely had to do with Castiel and his substantial erection.

“Yes. I’m sorry, it’s probably not appropriate to—”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry, Cas.” Dean turned over to face him. “Because if you really are sorry, I don’t belong in your bed. I’m not gonna have my first time with a dude be with someone who doesn’t really want me. You know?”

Castiel gazed back at him, somber blue eyes at first impenetrable.

“I’m not sorry,” he said. “And I want you more than you can even imagine. But we don’t... I hadn’t thought that it would be your first time, or that you’d want to go that route at all—”

“Why, because alphas don’t like to get boned?”

“Well, yes. But if you do want to experience that—with me—I won’t rush it, and if you want your...” He trailed off, somehow unable to finish the sentence.

“My mother. What, you think I need my mom for this?”

“Not at all. Although I’m not sure what arrangements the two of you have made for taking other partners. I didn’t get the impression that it would be a problem. But the sensual possibilities of such an arrangement are nearly endless, and—”

“Oh, so you might want her there. With us. Together. The three of us.”

Castiel gave him a lazy half-smile that somehow made Dean’s dick move all on its own. “Only if you do. I think it would be sublime. Have you ever been with two omegas, Dean?”

It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

“No.”

“Life is so short,” Castiel said. He slid his foot behind Dean’s knee and pulled him close, bringing their cocks grinding together through the thin cotton of their boxers. He rolled his hips against Dean’s and brushed their closed lips together, running his hands up the back of Dean’s head to nest on top, then tugging hard enough to show that Cas meant business. Dean felt a low whine rise through his chest, hot and desperate.

“Do you want to come, Dean?”

“Kind of a stupid question,” Dean said, and Castiel laughed in a low, dark kind of way that made Dean think he might have just fucked up.

“You have ten seconds. If you can’t come in ten seconds, you don’t come at all until we get home. Deal?”

“Deal.” Dean had no idea why Castiel had proposed something so idiotic, since that voice counting down from ten was going to get him off like a fucking rocket anyway. Castiel even obliged him by rolling on top of Dean and rotating his hips to bring their cocks together, the friction delicious, the scents maddening.

He slipped his hands into Dean’s boxers and pulled them down so quickly Dean hardly felt it happening, and then he realized that Castiel had done the same with his own underwear, leaving them almost naked, but naked enough.

_Ohshitohshitohshitohshit…_ He was mostly buck-ass nude, in bed with the single hottest guy he’d ever scented, who obviously knew his way around a dick or two, and he felt terribly vulnerable and stupid and inexperienced and so needy and desperate he couldn’t have imagined feeling like this forty-eight hours ago, and—

“Six… five…”

Castiel’s big hand surrounded their cocks in a hot, dry, implacable grip, stroking them together as Castiel sucked the tender skin of Dean’s neck between counts.

“Four…three…”

He was so close.

“Two.”

So. Fucking.

“One.”

Dean felt it rise from the center of his groin, the place just inside the perineum, and once an orgasm got that far, it was a foregone conclusion, two points in the basket, maybe three on a really good night. This one felt like he was going to put it in the net from the other side of the court.

“Sorry,” Castiel said, letting go of Dean’s cock and his own. Dean tried to rut up against Cas to get the last moment of contact he needed, but Castiel pressed his hands down on Dean’s hipbones, trapping him on the bed. Killing his goddamned orgasm. “And in this case, I really am sorry. But you’ll have plenty of time to berate me today.”

Castiel hopped off the bed and started getting dressed as though nothing had happened. It wasn’t until a knock came at the door a minute or two later that Dean’s blood abandoned his cock as a lost cause, allowing him enough functioning brainpower to ask the question.

“Plenty of time?”

Castiel opened the door, assuming correctly that it would be someone friendly, and it was—Mary had evidently been up for a while and was suitably caffeinated. And annoying.

“Boys, it’s time. Why are you still in bed, Dean? There’s coffee downstairs, breakfast, keys, keys, keys… aha!” She’d been going through Dean’s pockets and finally found the keys to the Impala.

“Lots of driving to do today and it’s going to be a long haul—I’ve got the kids repacking the car for Tallahassee. Dean, if you’re really good, Cas might even let you drive the Ghost. It’s a lovely ride.”

“Wait, what?” Dean said. “You didn’t tell me you were taking the Impala today. Mom, it’s my car!”

She winked at him and shrugged. “It was mine a long time before it was yours.” She threw the few clothes she had unpacked back into her bag while Dean complained.

“What the hell kind of logic is that?”

“Of course you can drive the Rolls if you like,” Castiel said, tucking his shirttail into blue wool trousers that did nothing to disguise the perfect, quarter-bouncing ass that Dean wished he’d gotten hold of ten minutes ago. “But she’s right. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get home. Right, Dean?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Hey,” Mary said to Castiel, a hand on his arm, “tell him everything, will you? Everything and more.”

“What do you mean, everything?” Dean demanded.

“You know how I always tell you to be polite and not ask personal questions?” Mary said.

“Yeah.”

“Ask them,” she said, slipping her arms around Castiel and then Dean for last hugs before they separated for the journey. “Ask them all. And you—” she said to Castiel, “—answer them. Everything. It’s only fair.”

She kissed them both, made a few more motivational noises at them, and left to gather the rest of the pack.

“What the fuck kinda secrets are you hiding, Cas?” Dean said as he dressed.

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing we’ve got a few hours.”

An hour and a half after leaving the B4, Dean found himself speeding through Columbia on their way south to Tallahassee, tailing the Impala the whole way down. No one objected; Dean got the impression that his mother knew enough about demons to be sensibly concerned about the risks, and Sam was learning quickly, since he had “borrowed” several books from the private Novak library, the one hidden away in the music room. Sam had never gotten carsick from reading, and he’d spent a fair portion of the trip down from New York City turning pages and sharing his discoveries with the rest of the class.

Claire knew most of the history already, although Castiel had a more nuanced understanding, not to mention the fact that he’d been there for a lot of it. But despite Castiel’s detailed accounts, Dean was having a hard time believing that the man over a thousand years old, given that he was in better shape than most of the athletes Dean went to school with. It was hard to tell through the suit-and-tie getup, but if the few minutes he’d spent with Castiel in bed were any indicator, the man was built like a brick shit-house. Still, Dean was getting pretty desperate for hard evidence.

Thinking about the hard evidence he’d like to have and the torment Castiel had put him through at the bed and breakfast, Dean squirmed on the Ghost’s butter-leather passenger seat and earned himself an amused glance from the driver.

“Does that happen when you drive with Mary, too?” Castiel asked.

“Not until recently,” Dean admitted, then changed the subject. Talking about his mother to Castiel was the last thing he wanted to be doing, unless they could pull off to the side of the road and also do something about the hard-on that would inevitably result from the conversation. “So are there different kinds of demons, or are they all the same?”

“Characteristics and abilities of demons are generally dependent on where they are in the hierarchy of Hell,” Castiel said, reminding Dean of his freshman biology professor, “although demons have been known to vanquish others and absorb their powers under certain circumstances. On top of that, they can channel their demonic power into spellcrafting, which makes them dangerously unpredictable.”

He continued the lecture until Augusta, when they took a break to meet the Impala, fuel up, and eat, to Dean’s delight. There was a tiny meat-and-three that had just enough room to seat the group, and while it didn’t have enough healthy options to satisfy Sam (he seemed to think the amount of fatback in the green beans was excessive, and that the protein in the fried pork chops didn’t outweigh the potential heart damage from the salt and cholesterol), the place had a kale and pepper shrimp soup that stopped his bitching long enough for them all to eat their fill.

And then, the pie.

It was close enough to Christmas that they had an outstanding selection of winter pies on full display: the bourbon pecan, pumpkin, sweet potato (but why the fuck would Dean order something at a restaurant that he could make just fine at home), peach (had to have been from frozen or canned fruit, which was probably acceptable, but still), apple, and holy shit on a shingle, lemon custard topped with a mountain of lightly toasted golden meringue the size of Kilimanjaro. When Sam mentioned that Kilimanjaro wasn’t technically in the top one hundred tallest mountains, the only thing stopping Dean from flipping his know-it-all little brother off was the presence of the server who really didn’t deserve that kind of behavior from her guests. Also there was a good chance she owned the place and made the pies herself.

“That one, please, ma’am,” he said, and shoveled in half the slice on the first bite.

It was pure summer: like lemonade with not quite enough sugar, from lemons squeezed fresh that morning, Lemonhead candies from the movie theater where his dad had taken them to see _Iron Man_, lemon bars from the lunch bags his mom packed for day camp, the chewy ones that stuck to his teeth for three hours and had pulled out one of Sam’s baby teeth.

“Oh, fuck me,” he said, moaning despite his efforts to be polite. His mother shushed him, but Castiel gave him a tiny squint from the far end of the table that made Dean wonder if he was next on the menu. Didn’t matter. “Here. Just try it, Mom.” He didn’t exactly shove the forkful of lemony revelation into her mouth, but it was clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Predictably, she closed her eyes to hide the way they rolled up into the back of her head, and whimpered so softly that he was the only one to hear it. Highly gratifying.

Castiel said, “Ma’am, could we get another two slices of that to share?”

They passed the plates around, and even Sam had to agree that it was the best damned lemon meringue pie on the planet.

After lunch, they separated again, and Dean got his chance to drive the Ghost. He’d already been impressed by the design, which made him feel like he was in a 1940s version of a James Bond car, at least until he started playing with the sophisticated controls, half-expecting fire and brimstone to shoot out from the exhaust pipes.

Castiel laughed at the idea, and said, “It doesn’t, but I did replace the umbrellas in the doors with angel blades. Just in case.”

“Okay, so what’s an angel blade? Come on, she said to tell me everything, Cas.”

Castiel cleared his throat and resumed the lecture.

By the time they hit Hawkinsville, a small town halfway between the best lemon meringue pie on the planet and Tallahassee, Dean had absorbed the equivalent of four college credits in angelic history, two in introductory hunter and démoniste lore, and a half-semester independent study on demonology. He wanted to tell Castiel that he’d skip the advanced internship, but his mother had been abducted by a fucking demon and repeatedly raped under his orders, and Dean was going to do everything in his power to take the bastard down. He could pretend it was to prevent the guy doing it to anyone else, but in all honesty, Dean wanted to see the demon bleed. At his own hands. No matter how long it took.

He’d lost track of what Castiel was saying, and realized that the other man had gone silent.

“Tell me about him,” Dean said. “About Azazel. What’s his beef with your family?”

Castiel didn’t seem surprised at the question.

“It’s not just my family. It’s omegas in general. Sex, in general.”

“Sorry?”

“Azazel is a Prince of Hell. He’s older than me, older than most of my family, and has been working to destroy humans and those of us who love them since the Fall, which started the First Celestial War. When Lucifer Fell, Azazel went with him, along with Semyaza, Ramiel, Dagon, Lilith, a dozen others.”

“What’s that got to do with sex?”

“Azazel and Lilith are demons who feed off of human sexual energies,” Castiel said.

“So succubi, incubi, et cetera.”

Castiel nodded, pleased that Dean had made the connection. “Yes. They are the alpha incubus and succubus. Not the gender designations, but the first creatures to have those abilities and can create more of them.”

“Okay, so?”

“Over the centuries, as humans evolved into the three subgender designations, they became harder to feed off—harder to digest, in a way. But omegas are still more vulnerable to predation, in terms of energy output, and my theory is that Azazel doesn’t want to work through traditional physical means anymore—seduction or rape. He wants others to do it for him, but he needs them to generate enough energy that he can feed off it. So he captures omegas, triggers their heat cycles, and has alphas—”

“Don’t want details,” Dean said. “Honestly, I can imagine. But wouldn’t alphas make better targets, you know, when we go into rut? That’s a whole lot of sexual energy, just kind of in a different direction.”

“That’s Lilith’s area. And she does her own dirty work. Will happily fuck an alpha to death, from what I hear.”

“Huh.”

“Don’t, Dean. Don’t even think it. However strong you think you are—and I have no doubt you’d put Eros to shame in bed—”

“Wanna find out?”

“I’m serious. Lilith would use you up, paint her skin with your blood, and eat your shriveled cock and balls like fucking appetizers. If you’re lucky, you’ll be dead when she does it, but the process can take decades. Do you understand?”

Dean had no response to that and didn’t try to come up with one.

“Do you understand?” Castiel repeated. “I’m not going to be the one to bring your mutilated corpse home to your mother, Dean.”

Dean nodded humbly.

“Good. Now, we’ll be coming up on Tallahassee soon.” Castiel nodded at the Ghost’s dashboard and said, “You should open her up, see what she’s got. It may be your last chance for a while.”

Dean checked for nearby cars, moved to the left-hand lane, and did as he was told.

Five minutes down the road, they blew the doors off the Impala, passing Mary and her crew at ninety-five miles an hour.

At seven minutes, his heart pounding in his throat, Dean said, “Is there a governor on this girl, Cas?”

“Not anymore.”

At fifteen minutes, the Impala passed them as they waited on the shoulder for the state trooper to check Dean’s license and the registration for the Ghost. Hard to miss it with Mary laying on the horn, Claire cackling out the back window, and Charlie hooting mocking encouragement as the strains of “Whole Lotta Love” faded into the distance.

It was never fun to get caught by the law. It was even worse when your friends and family witnessed it and no doubt filed it away for blackmail material and humiliating holiday stories that would follow a guy around for the rest of his life. Between that and the constant low throbbing of his cock from being cooped up in a car with Castiel for hours on end, Dean was one grumpy son of a bitch by the time they all staggered into the Winchester home, having driven thirteen hundred miles over two days and wanting nothing more than to face-plant into the nearest pillowy surface and sleep for twelve hours minimum. Unpacking could wait.

But he’d missed the hell out of his little brother over the last couple of days, and he had to give Sam a short, crushing hug before unpacking bags from the Impala. “Missed you, man,” he said.

“Dude, don’t be such a princess,” Sam said, but still pounded him on the back in return.

His mother apparently felt differently about the homecoming, and even though she’d driven the Impala over eleven hours, she headed to her room with an obvious bounce in her step, like she was opening the first present on Christmas morning. And then stopped with her hands on the double doorknobs, waiting for something Dean couldn’t even guess at and was frankly too tired to give more than one tiny little shit about.

“Mom, come on, lemme drop your stuff off at least so I can get the rest from the car. I’m dying back here.”

She took a deep breath and opened the doors.

Somehow she’d gotten a new bed in the last week, since they’d left for New York. The modest queen-sized one that Dean had shared with her a few times was gone, replaced with a monster, although it was an awfully pretty monster, he had to admit.

She flicked the lights on, displaying the bed properly. It was a California king, dressed in a lush, gathered duvet of baby blue satin and gold tassels and fringe, covered with an assortment of pillows ranging from little what-the-fuck-is-this-for cushions to firm sleepers and bolsters, and a body pillow that could double for a partner, if one was missing.

Totally a nest.

He said so, and his mother grinned. Then she saw his expression, and said, “Do you… oh. You don’t like it. Okay. There’s always your—”

“I like it a lot, Mom,” Dean said, turning her around to face him. “I just didn’t think you wanted to come right out and be… us. You know, in front of everyone.”

“It’s our house,” she said softly, stroking his face. “Our home, our family. We should live as we like. They’ll accept us, and if not, we’ll deal with it together.” She wound her arms around his neck and drew him down for a slow, lingering kiss. When she was done, she said, “I doubt I’ll be doing that at Brandy’s, given that incest is illegal in the States, but there’s no reason we should withhold affection otherwise. It’s no one’s business but ours.”

Dean heard a cough behind them and for once, didn’t startle and move away from his mother.

“Mary, is there a guest room?” Castiel said. “The kids are insisting on using the bunk beds in Sam’s room—I’m not sure either of them will be able to sleep in normal beds anymore—and I’m not making any guesses on whether Dean’s room is available.”

“Yes, there is a guest room, but I think this might be more comfortable. If a little intimate.” Mary stepped aside and let Castiel survey the room, which he did with obvious appreciation.

“Mary, did you…”

“It wasn’t like this when we left,” Dean said, seeing where Cas was going, and interested in the answer.

“So you arranged this from New York.”

“Well,” she said, “I really loved the bed in your omega suite, Castiel, and I couldn’t help but think it might be nice if we had enough room to be… comfortable. So I called my friend who was house-sitting, and told her what I wanted, and if it might be possible in two days, and I think she did an outstanding job. I try not to indulge in excess, but in this case I thought it was worth the expense.” She took their hands and brought them all together inside the triangle of their bodies. Dean was so close to Castiel he could almost hear the other man’s heartbeat. “So I’m staying here tonight,” Mary continued. “And you’re welcome here, both of you. Although we have room to make other arrangements, if—”

“Shut up, Mary,” Castiel said, and kissed her, then wrapped his arm around Dean to pull him in for another deep kiss once he managed to break away from Mary. It should have felt odd, Dean thought, since it was only the second time Castiel had kissed him, but it really didn’t.

“Good, then,” she said, once she got her breath back. “That will be nice.”

They separated, which was hard, as Dean hadn’t felt quite right in his own skin since the three of them had taken different cars that morning, but there was unpacking to do, showers to take, kids to feed regardless of the late hour, and people to notify that they’d made it home safely.

By the time Dean fell into the blue satin bed, Mary and Castiel curled like shrimp by his side, he had just enough energy to appreciate that Marissa had found what had to be the biggest memory foam mattress in St. Johns county and parked it in his mother’s bedroom.

Yeah, that chick was getting two pies for Christmas.


	19. FINALLY

He woke sweaty and blamed it on the omegas, who had somehow rearranged themselves in the middle of the night to trap him firmly on both sides. His mother had thrown a leg over his thigh and was not-so-subtly rubbing her knee against his growing erection, and his uncle—hard to think of him like that, especially now, but it was the truth—had settled a warm hand on Dean’s hip, entirely too close to Dean’s cock for comfort. Definitely close enough for other things.

He had two options—pretend to be asleep, which he doubted they would believe anyway, or try to wake up completely and take them up on the offer they were making. If it were just his mother, he’d be all over that, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to jump in the pool with both of them... yet. He’d never been with two people at once, let alone two omegas, and what if he—

“Stop thinking,” his mother whispered. Yeah, they knew he was awake. “I want to put my mouth on you. Is that okay?”

Jesus fuck.

“Yeah. I guess. I mean…”

“Help me with these,” she said, her fingers creeping under the waistband of his boxers. He lifted his hips so she could slide them off and toss them aside. She kissed him briefly, then abandoned his mouth to wander downward, her tongue and lips licking and brushing his belly and the tender bones of his hips.

He gulped audibly and couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed by it. “Is Castiel—”

“I won’t interfere,” Castiel said into Dean’s ear, his gravelly voice making Dean’s cock twitch. “And if you want me to leave, I’ll go, no questions asked, no hurt feelings.”

“No, it’s okay, I—_shit,_ Mom,” he hissed, as Mary’s firm lips engulfed him in wet heat. It only took three long strokes to make him fully hard, and she was just getting started. She licked the whole length of his cock, root and stem, then ducked down to take his balls in her mouth one at a time, suckling gently. She licked back up, using the flat of her tongue to cover more territory, then gave the end of his cock a few little kitten licks, maybe to get at the pre-come he knew she liked.

Eyes closed, he heard the tantalizing wet sounds of more licking, more sucking, a soft moan, but for the moment, no one was paying attention to his dick—so it must have been Cas and his mother making out. Maybe Cas was licking his pre-come out of his mother’s mouth. Which was about enough to make him blow his load just thinking about it, until Mary crawled back up the mattress and bit his earlobe before saying, “Castiel wants to help. Can he?”

“Oh fuck yes please yes God—”

Before his string of profane prayers had run its course, Dean felt Castiel’s mouth sink down onto his cock, taking the bulk of it deep enough that Dean thought he could feel himself nudge the back of Castiel’s throat.

“Wow,” Mary whispered with a little giggle. “Centuries of practice, huh?”

Dean couldn’t bring himself to care about Castiel’s advanced age; it was more important to see what his omegas were up to before he accidentally choked Castiel with his come. It wasn’t hard to guess when he heard them kissing again and smelled their arousal perfuming the room. Then two soft, hot, wet mouths met on the end of his cock, and he made a very un-alpha-like sound and arched his back, a reflexive reaction to way too much stimulation.

He managed to prop himself up on his elbows and damn near lost his mind when he saw his mother and Castiel meeting in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on the end of his cock and fuck they were both really really into this. They did their best to bring their lips together around the head of his cock, winding their tongues and moving on his shaft like they were worshiping some kind of serpentine god.

They noticed him watching and stared back at him, their eyes gleaming omega gold, and if it weren’t so insanely hot it would have been a little scary. They exchanged a glance and came to some silent agreement, because his mother sank her hands into Castiel’s hair, kissed him hard, with lots of tongue, then pushed his mouth back down onto Dean’s cock, giving Cas absolutely no opportunity to adjust to the intrusion. He didn’t object. Mary licked around Castiel’s lips stretched at the root of Dean’s cock, then slid down to suck his balls again, swirling her tongue around them, following the seam back to his perineum (fuck fuck fuck was his mom about to eat him out? Was he even okay with that?) She let go of Castiel’s hair and let him suck Dean as he liked for a few minutes, then moved back up to lick and bite at Dean’s nipples, which were always a little too sensitive for that kind of attention. She didn’t seem to remember that, or maybe she was doing it anyway just to make him fucking cry.

She might have guessed that he was suffering needlessly, because she took mercy on him, rejoining Castiel to lick, suck, and adore Dean’s cock, and then she gasped. Dean lifted his head just enough to see Castiel brushing his fingers across her lips, giving her a taste of something that made her moan against his hand and suck his fingers into her mouth.

“Do you want him or can I... ?” Castiel said to Mary.

“Can we share?”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

The two of them were talking about Dean like he wasn’t even there—and he kind of liked it. Mary shifted and moved her hand between herself and Castiel, but Dean couldn’t tell what she was doing until Castiel dove onto him again and sucked hard.

“Castiel,” Mary said. “Swallow him.”

Castiel did, and Dean let his head drop back onto the pillow as the tight, wet muscles in the back of Castiel’s throat worked rhythmically around his cock. On some very distant level, he though he should try to wait to come, for no other reason than to act like a grown man instead of a thirteen-year-old with a shiny new dick, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

Then he felt something warm dripping into his half-open mouth, and his mother’s slippery fingers smeared it on his lips, feeding him ambrosia—tart, sweet, deep, and bitter all at the same time, and it could only be Castiel and his mother, their slick combined in his mouth.

He groaned against his mother’s fingers like a man dying and came hard and forever from every cell in his body, every nerve ending lighting up like a fucking plasma ball; thrilling, terrifying electricity flying through him, making the idea of pulling out of Castiel’s mouth for politeness’ sake impossible, but Cas had a vise-like grip on Dean’s hips anyway and didn’t seem interested in letting go.

As experienced as he evidently was, even Castiel couldn’t take all of a young alpha’s come, and he pulled up to breathe after a minute or so, a long string of drool and come falling from his plump lower lip. Mary was on Castiel in an instant, sucking his lip into her mouth and then sliding down to straddle his thigh. Hips grinding on his leg, she tilted her head and opened her mouth to him as Castiel let a slow stream of Dean’s come fall on her waiting tongue.

Castiel split it, as he’d promised, and then gently spat out his mouthful onto Mary’s chest, and she gave him her portion the same way. Grinning like teenagers making out for the first time, they spread it around, rubbing it in, scent-marking each other so that no one on the eastern seaboard would ever doubt that they belonged to Dean Winchester.

Dean didn’t really believe what he was seeing, but his dick did, and offered up another creamy blurt, a tribute to the shameless, breathtaking behavior of his two omegas.

Mary gathered those last few drops from his cock, along with slick from between her legs, and used them on Castiel, jerking him off in a few strong, confident strokes, drawing a deep, low groan from him as he covered her thighs with more come that Dean had ever seen out of a male omega, even in porn.

“Jesus,” Castiel whispered at the end, leaning his forehead into Mary’s neck to collect himself.

“Damn, Mom. Where’d you come up with that flash of slutty brilliance?” Dean sat up to kiss the other side of her neck and nibble at her ear. “Fucking amazing.”

“Can’t take credit,” she said, trying to catch her own breath. “Five years of chasing an orgasm, I watched a lot of porn.”

“Jesus,” Castiel repeated. “Five years? Sacrilege.”

“That’s what I said!” Dean croaked.

Castiel had his tongue down Mary’s throat and two fingers inside her before Dean even realized what was happening. The man wasn’t at all gentle, and slammed his fingers into her all the way to the knuckle, pounding her over and over until she shuddered and came against him, her slick running down his hand and dripping onto the bedding, fingernails digging into Castiel’s back like he was the only thing keeping her afloat in a stormy sea.

Castiel released her enough to run his fingers through his own spend that was still on Mary’s thighs and used it to slick up Dean’s cock, grunting in approval when it came roaring back to action.

“Nineteen years old and enough angel to give me that gorgeous cock ten times a day if I ask it nicely. Lay back down,” he ordered. Dean didn’t have the guts to tell him no, and why the fuck would he, anyway?

“Come on, Mary. Roll over onto him. Feel how hard he is? He’s not done with you, not for a while, and neither am I.” Castiel held Mary’s hips up with one powerful arm and dragged Dean’s cock along her slit with the other hand, anointing him with her sweet, bubbly slick. He positioned Mary right above Dean and then let her hips fall slowly down, letting them both adjust as she settled around the root of his cock. She wailed from pure, desperate need, and when Castiel slid his arm around to graze and pinch her nipples, Dean felt her pulse around him as another powerful climax shook her from head to toe. Clearly, the attention of two compatible lovers was rocking the fuck out of Mary Winchester’s world, and Dean couldn’t begrudge her the pleasure, even if it wasn’t all his doing.

Castiel let her lean back against him, running his hands over her chest and belly. He pulled her hair to get closer and kissed her hard, letting his free hand drift to her clit, taking complete control of her, and of Dean. Like they were toys. Puppets.

Dean loved it.

Still, he wanted to help, so he rocked his hips, the subtle movement just enough stimulation to remind her that he was still there. Castiel nodded his approval and kept at his tender assault on her clit while licking and biting at her neck over John Campbell’s mating bite. Part of Dean wanted to stop him—Mary was supposed to be _his_—but then Castiel caught Dean’s eye, his expression soft, and sped up the massage on Mary’s clit.

“How is she, Dean?”

“Wet. Wetter now.”

“Good. She’s almost ready for another one. Are you?”

“Yeah. God, I’m so fucking ready, Cas, can I come?”

“Yes, but maybe not pop a knot this morning, hm?”

“Yeah, okay, oh shit, she’s, I can feel her—”

“Fuck her, Dean. Fuck her hard.”

Dean felt his mother’s body seize up like it sometimes did when her orgasm was going to be earth-shaking, her inner walls vibrating like the lower strings of a piano during the final bars of a Beethoven symphony, and he did as he was told, because in that moment it was the only thing on earth he’d been put there to do. Castiel held her tight against him and whispered into her ear. Dean could only hear it because the room was strangely quiet except for his mother’s tiny whimpers.

“Come for me, darling Mary, come for us, show us you love us so much, give me your slick, we want it all, feel him so deep inside you, he’ll give you his come, Mary, but give him yours first, drench him, drown him, come for us, baby, now.”

And holy fuck, did she.

She whipped her head back into the cradle of Castiel’s neck and shoulder and let him finish her off with his fingertips, then bore down on Dean’s cock and squeezed her thighs so hard around him he thought her knees might leave bruises on his hips. Dean felt a warm flood of slick trickle down his balls, which tightened up in anticipation of what had to be coming next.

Just as Mary was coming down from whatever extragalactic planetary system she’d reached, Castiel gave Dean a sweet, fond smile, and said, “Good boy.”

Dean came so hard he probably should have shot come out of his ears.

Castiel guided Mary down into Dean’s arms and held them both tight while Dean slammed his cock up into her again, and again, and again, until Mary was sobbing quietly and Dean’s vision had gone a little fuzzy. He felt a hand sweep over his hair, and since his mother’s arms were tucked up against his chest, it had to be Castiel’s touch, and he turned into it with a lazy smile.

He just couldn’t bring himself to speak yet. Words seemed way too trivial to break the silence after what they had just done together. So when Castiel sat up on his heels and gathered more of his own slick, enough to cover his cock, Dean could only grin and lick his lips, hoping Cas would give him a taste of it.

Castiel saw the movement and gave him an answering smile, then started jacking himself off, his big, broad hand moving over his cock in slow strokes as the other touched down on Mary’s hip. He paused for a moment and offered Dean his hand.

“Lick.”

Dean did, and tasted some of the chocolate he’d expected, but a lot more of the heady bourbon flavor, and it was so good, so pure and smooth that he chased it with his tongue, licking between Castiel’s fingers for more of it.

Castiel pulled his hand back and resumed stroking himself. Even in the dim morning light, Dean could see the veins in the man’s cock and the dark, angry purple of its head. Dean thought maybe it was time to speak.

“Hey, Cas. Will you come for me too?”

Castiel bowed his head, all the muscles in his lean upper body tightening up like he was on a full-body jackknife machine, and goddamn it was beautiful. He swore under his breath, then went completely silent and shot another load so hard that some landed on Dean’s forehead, while the rest stayed mostly on Mary’s back.

Castiel sat back on his heels, breathing hard, and took a moment to run his arm over his forehead in a useless effort to get some of the sweat off. A minute of recovery brought him back to the world, and he seemed to remember he wasn’t quite done with the Winchesters.

He swiped the streak of come from Dean’s forehead and rubbed it on Mary’s neck, over the mating scar, and then took a fingerful of the come on Mary’s back and worked it in to Dean’s scent gland, staring into his eyes the whole time, like he was professing his love, or some shit.

Which was just ridiculous. Castiel had enough time on his hands to play with as many pretty humans as he wanted (Dean was smart enough to know he wasn’t ugly), but other than a few drops of accidental angel blood, there was nothing special about an average college student with an average job at an average auto shop and no ambition other than keeping his mom floating in orgasms as often as he could. And now that it was clear Castiel could give her what she needed (the guy had made her come with his fingers in like thirty seconds), there wasn’t much reason to keep Dean around. The big bed was a nice thought, though. And once Christmas was over, school would start up again, he’d pine for a few months, want to die, and then never ever go through this shit again.

Until she needed him.

“Dean,” his mother whispered, apparently not asleep after all. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not breathing properly, Dean,” Castiel said, stern and disapproving. But his hand moved from Dean’s scent gland to his face and he stroked Dean’s cheekbone with all the gentleness in the world.

“I’m good, you guys,” he said. “I’ve just got fifty pounds of super sexy motherhood kinda crushing my lungs.”

“Oh,” Mary said, and peeled herself off him. “Sorry. What’s that in your hair, baby?”

“It’s semen,” Castiel offered.

“That was your fault,” Dean said.

“Obviously. I’ll get everyone towels for Christmas.” Castiel leaned back on the bed and propped himself up on one elbow, looking like a fucked-out Dionysus, his dark brown hair exploding in a dozen directions, his nude body winter-pale and beautifully muscled.

And tattooed, like Dean had suspected.

“What’s that?” he said, running his fingers over a dark shape on Castiel’s hip.

“It’s a peregrine falcon,” Castiel said. “When we reach adolescence, Novaks choose birds to represent their houses. I had an artist do this one mostly to irritate my mother.”

“Why the falcon?”

“Because it’s a predator. Tough bastards. Terribly mean when the occasion calls for it. Thrives in many environments. And there was a nest of wild peregrines in the cliffs below the castle when I turned thirteen.”

“Where was that?” Mary asked, finally recovering from the waves of orgasms that Castiel and Dean had inflicted on her.

“Ireland.”

“So the birds on the terrace in New York, those are like… heraldic symbols?”

“See, you remembered to ask me after all,” Castiel said, planting a kiss on her swollen, dark pink lips. Dean wondered why it didn’t bother him that someone else was touching his omega so intimately, except that those very same lips had been wrapped around his cock not too long ago, along with Castiel’s, and that his mother wasn’t really his omega anyway. Hard to get jealous in a situation like that. “Yes, they are. The peacock is Gabriel’s. Hannah’s was the owl.”

“And this?” Dean couldn’t quite make out the white tattoo on Castiel’s chest, except that it was vaguely circular, with a star in the middle surrounded by maybe… flames of some kind? He drew his fingers over it and found that the design was raised, not smooth, like a white ink tattoo would be. “Holy shit, Cas. This is a scar.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “It’s protective scarification. Against possession. Claire has one, too, and if you three would—”

“You’re not cutting my son,” Mary said. “Dean makes his own decisions, but under no circumstances are you to take a knife to Sam. Absolutely—”

“I wouldn’t ask it,” Castiel said. “But an ink tattoo would be just as effective.”

Mary pulled her knees up to her chest. “I’ll ask him. It’s not legal in Florida until he’s sixteen, anyway.”

“I’ll get one,” Dean said immediately. “I’ll get one today. Can I go to anyone or is there a particular artist I have to use?”

Mary slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

“Wait, Mom, are you—”

“I have to practice,” she said. “It’s fine. It makes sense.” She returned to the bed and kissed Dean thoroughly, then Castiel, who ran his hands up her back in a fruitless attempt to get her back in bed. “No, really, it’s fine. But I need to get a little bit of normal back, just for a few hours. You two beautiful boys carry on.”

She managed to slither out of their grip, clean up and dress enough to be decent, and escape the bedroom before the men could lure her into their arms.

Dean flopped on the bed, worn out by the morning’s experiments and not at all willing to get out of bed unless his two wildly inappropriate lovers were within arm’s reach. He felt Castiel’s hand on his shoulder and turned into the touch.

“You don’t understand yet,” Castiel said. “Neither of you do.”

“Understand what?”

“That it has to be the three of us. We’ll separate every now and again, and there will probably be times when you and she want to be together without me, et cetera, but in the end, it has to be all of us, together. I won’t have it any other way. It’s both of you or nothing, Dean.”

Castiel kissed Dean, lingering over his lips, nipping them like they were his own property, then hopped off the bed like he’d been awake for hours. Maybe he had been. While he got cleaned up and dressed, Dean thought hard about what Cas had just laid on him. The more he thought, the more it just seemed too good to be true.


	20. Domestic bliss

The next few days flew by, bringing Christmas faster than anyone seemed to expect. There was time for decorating, planning, shopping, wrapping, and cooking, but only just. Having five people in the house made things both easier and more difficult, since there were more hands, but fewer places to hide presents and fewer opportunities to shop unobserved. Online orders helped, but Claire had been known to open packages and print counterfeit packaging, down to the labels and tape, so Castiel had to keep a close eye on her and pick up all their packages from a separate location. The off-site pickup had as much to do with security as anything else, but it was great fun to watch Claire’s face turn red with frustration when she was denied any opportunity to disobey.

The careful supervision of the delivery process was a challenge, not because he was mocked for it and called names by Claire and Dean (“control freak” and “Big Brother” came up once or twice), but because at any given time, Castiel could be all too easily distracted by the presence of one or both of his mates—_lovers_, he had to correct himself, over and over. Even though they felt like mates to him, and smelled like mates, and damn it, his cock was already at half-mast just thinking about the three of them and what they’d gotten up to the night before. He had to admit, Mary’s house sitter had done a fine job building that nest for the three of them and they were putting it to good use.

“Daddy!” Claire yelled, racing through the house from the pool to the kitchen, where Castiel was prepping parsley and occasionally stirring a huge pot of minestrone. “What do you think you’re doing in the kitchen? Did Mary say you could cook?”

“I wasn’t aware I needed permission to prepare dinner,” Castiel said, finishing the parsley. He rubbed his hands together and took a deep whiff of the freshly chopped herb. “Here, smell this, it’s amazing.”

“Ew, Dad, I’m not gonna smell your fingers, Dean already tried that yesterday.”

“You’re dripping all over the floor, darling. Dry off properly and clean up the mess before someone cracks a skull.”

“Yes, sir,” Claire said, for once appearing to do as she was told. “It’s too quiet around here. When are the Winchesters coming home?”

The so-far-unnoticed security detail had checked in with Castiel twenty minutes before to tell him the Winchesters were on their way back to the house, but Castiel wasn’t about to pass that information along to Claire.

“Sam would know better than I do,” he said. “Why don’t you text him?”

It was all so blissfully domestic. Even the discomfort of being separated from his mates—_lovers_, goddamn it—was familiar and soothing, in a way, because he knew they would be back soon, and they would all have dinner together, clean the kitchen together, flop on the sofa together, watch a movie together, and go to bed wherever they liked. Claire had declared a fondness for Dean’s room because of the posters, which were mostly of vintage cars and classic pin-up girls, but she never slept the whole night there, preferring to move to Sam’s room later.

“Sam snores,” she’d said. “Like an earthquake. But it’s also kinda like white noise, you know? So it helps.”

Castiel did know.

“I’ll text him in a minute,” Claire said, and then plastered her wet self to Castiel’s back and hugged him for a full ten seconds before letting him go. She disappeared into Sam’s room to change out of her long-sleeved swim shirt, leaving Castiel damp-assed and grinning like an idiot. Claire was possibly the least cuddly person he knew, but something about the Winchesters—all of them—invited hugs and petting and tickles, and it seemed to be rubbing off on his daughter, too.

Would wonders never cease.

Not long after, the Winchesters came back from their secret Christmas errands sporting new antipossession tattoos for Dean and Mary, who was miffed that her family hadn’t known that bit of lore, or at least hadn’t told her about it. Her tattoo was just under her ribcage, close to the bone, and Dean’s was on his chest, exactly where Castiel’s scar was.

Dean started unloading dry goods, elbowing for space even though Mary’s kitchen was almost as big as the one in the Novak penthouse. Castiel elbowed back, until the two of them were jostling each other from one end of the counter to the other and Dean landed an unfortunate strike to Castiel’s ribcage, which actually hurt like a bitch although Castiel would be the last one to admit it.

“That’s enough of that, young man,” Castiel said, and whipped Dean’s arm around his back in a comparatively gentle but inescapable shoulder grab, then led the younger man down to the floor. He released Dean immediately, hoping to avoid any hurt feelings or bruised egos, but Dean popped back up like a jack-in-the-box, flushed and excited.

“Dude, did you wrestle in college or something?”

“Or something,” Castiel said.

“My dad knows about eight thousand ways to kill someone,” Claire piped up helpfully.

“Oh yeah?” Dean said. “So you can show me a few thousand of those, right?”

Castiel smiled while he went back to the stove and stirred the soup, now that Dean wasn’t competing for space. “Competent hunters always have several fighting styles at hand, especially since the skin of some creatures can be toxic, and it’s best to keep your distance if you can. Although sometimes you don’t have a choice but to get up close and personal.” He gave Dean a meaningful look and was pleased to watch him blush a delicate pink. It was gorgeous.

“They’re not going to hunt,” Mary said from the refrigerator, no longer bothering to put away the perishables. “My sons—”

“Are going to make their own decisions,” Castiel said. “Just like Claire will make hers, when the time comes.”

“Time’s not gonna come, Dad,” Claire said. “I don’t wanna grow up!”

_“When I see the price that you pay—”_ Dean answered, mangling a line from the Ramones song, possibly the only one Castiel knew, and that because of Gabriel.

_“I don’t wanna grow up!”_

_“I don’t ever wanna be that way!”_

_“I don’t wanna grow up!”_

Dean and Claire finished the line together at top volume, and it was impossible not to laugh at them, even for Mary.

“Guess it’s time to crank it, kids!” Dean said, and set up a phone and wireless speaker, presumably to play more of his kind of music for the Christmas pastry elves. Dean had promised to show Claire how to assemble a lattice crust for the cherry pie, and Sam was determined to top a pie with a braided crust and small pastry stars this year. It was going to take some work.

Castiel circled the kitchen island and caught Mary before she could escape into another part of the house. He took her hands and brought them to his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not expecting a response. She nodded, though, which was better than no response at all. “If there were any way—”

“There’s not,” she said. “What’s done is done. If John hadn’t died, he would have found a way to drag them into it. They have a choice now, at least. But Castiel, if my boys become hunters, we have to make sure they’re not Campbells. Do you understand?”

Castiel did. She didn’t want Dean and Sam to become murderers instead of protectors.

“Come with me,” he said, leading her to the big armchair beside the glittering Christmas tree and pulling her down to sit with him.

“There are different ways to hunt,” he said. “Many of my people are trained in the rudiments but don’t even go on active assignments until they specialize. Spellcrafting, engineering, medical and legal counsel, global IT—we have a worldwide network of hackers, half of whom can forge IDs for any library or museum in the world, and the rest can just break in and steal what they need. We even return things. Mostly.”

Mary said nothing, but nestled into his chest and began to relax against him.

“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Not all hunters—not all _my_ hunters, anyway—have short lifespans. I take care of my own, Mary. And you are mine. You, Dean, Sam—even Charlie and Ellen, you’re all mine.”

“Ask Ellen how she feels about that.”

“Not like ownership. Like guardianship.”

“Like the mother ship!” Claire hollered, cannonballing onto the armchair in a bombshell of wet towel, perpetually damp bathing suit, and dripping hair. Apparently she’d lost interest in Dean’s tutorial and had gone back to the pool for what had to be her seventh swim of the day.

“Oh for the love of Christ, Claire!” he exclaimed, ready to push her off of him.

But Mary pulled her back to the cluster and caught her around the ribs, which degenerated into a minor tickle skirmish that Claire ended by playing dirty and screaming at the top of her lungs. She launched herself off the chair and slid across the tile floor towards Sam’s room, where she was apparently keeping at least one change of clothes.

Mary squirmed out of Castiel’s arms, wincing when his hand brushed her tattoo.

“Apologies,” Castiel said. “For that, and for Claire.”

“It’s fine. It’s nice to see her act like a kid. How old is she? In time, in development… I hardly know how to ask the question.”

“It’s not an easy one. She was born in 1944, which makes her seventy-five this year. As far as development… I think she’s… I have no idea.”

They both laughed, and it was good of Mary to forgive his ignorance.

“But I feel for her, trapped in the purgatory of adolescence, and I remember how bad it was for me—even though I was growing up without the pressures that have been put on her and her entire generation.”

“Which I imagine have only gotten worse since 1944.” Mary sighed. “I don’t blame her for being who she is, Castiel, if that’s what you’re worried about. And no matter how maddening she can be, even an _enfant terrible_ is still an _enfant.”_

“Who’s a baby?” Dean said, coming in from the kitchen.

“You are,” Mary said. “Still my baby.”

“Why are you guys all wet? Oh, right. Claire. Well, come on, I need you in the kitchen if I’m gonna get Marissa’s pies done for tomorrow. The brat’s disappeared.” Dean held out his hands for both of them and pulled them up, then planted long kisses on them that could have easily turned into more if Sam hadn’t yelled at them and threatened to scorch the soup.

Christmas Eve was maybe Dean’s favorite night of the year, almost better than Christmas itself. He got to play with food for fun, creep around the house to find the gifts he’d stashed six months ago then forgotten about until the last minute, sneak glasses of wine when his mother turned a sort-of blind eye, wrap presents for the people he loved most on the planet (and two extra ones this year), and listen to _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ playing on a continual loop starting as early as he could get away with it.

The Novaks and Winchesters sans Dean had presented a united front against _Nightmare_ on its sixth loop, leaving the house dangerously quiet. Sam and Claire had closeted themselves away in their rooms (or Dean’s room, in Claire’s case) for their own last-minute Christmas rituals, Mary had gone for a late-night swim, God only knew why, and Castiel was on the living room sofa, knees propped up on pillows, laptop on knees, ridiculously sexy reading glasses in place, scrolling through something, maybe Facebook? Dean couldn’t imagine what an angel’s Facebook page would look like, but it couldn’t be that different from garden-variety human social media. Except that the guy was pretty old and had to have like a thousand friends by now. Checking Facebook could take hours.

Which was just not gonna happen. Dean was as ready as he could be for the next morning and as overexcited as a five-year-old. He paced through the house, jumping up to swing on the lintel of every open door he could find, until finally he returned to the living room where Castiel was still doing something or other on the computer.

It irritated the hell out of him, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Part of it was plain old desperation for attention, which was just fucking embarrassing, but it was Christmas Eve and if he had a girlfriend, he’d expect to be making out with her under the tree, not at a loose end waiting for his lovers—his two lovers—to put their hands on him.

Just as he started toward the kitchen for his third glass of wine (which probably had something to do with his mood; he’d always been a grouchy, self-indulgent drinker according to Charlie), Castiel said, “Go to bed, Dean. And get ready for me. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Like always, Dean shivered a little at Castiel’s casual authority, as though he expected to be obeyed without question. But the man had as good as promised Dean the attention he wanted, so it was only reasonable that Dean follow orders, especially since “get ready” usually meant “take a quick shower, lay out some towels, and get that alpha cock of yours good and hard for me.”

Dean did as he was told, flopping naked and barely dry on the satin-dressed bed, and started stroking his cock, which was already half-hard in any case and wouldn’t take long to reach its full size. Full size meant, in this case, generously endowed even for an alpha, long enough for him to fit one hand by the root and another near the stem, which always felt really fucking good. One of his first nights at college he’d had one or four shots too many and discovered that if he really worked at it, he could bend over deeply enough to get the head of his dick in his mouth, which resulted in a noseful of come and a twinge in his back that fucked with his lap time for weeks afterward. From then on he recruited co-eds for blow jobs—and reciprocated, of course, he wasn’t a douchebag—but the idea of his mother’s mouth on his cock never entirely left him, not even before spring break when they had first been together.

It had been worth the wait.

It was worth waiting for Castiel, too, who didn’t make Dean suffer much longer. He came in quietly, laptop set aside for the evening, and closed the door behind him. Even from the doorway, Dean could scent his arousal.

“Hello, Dean.”

Instead of saying something stupid, Dean rolled up onto his knees and waited for Castiel to come closer, wondering what came next, since they had never been together without Mary directly participating, or at least watching. So far there had been hand jobs, and rutting, and Castiel’s mouth hot on Dean’s cock, and Dean’s cock squeezing between Castiel’s thighs, wet with slick, and… It had all been about Dean’s cock, hadn’t it?

Maybe it was time for a few firsts. Just because Dean hadn’t done things with other men… well, he had an imagination, and he could use it.

Castiel wore a set of dark blue grandpa pajamas that turned his eyes into sapphires in the dim evening light of the bedroom. Dean wanted them off yesterday, and moved towards the buttons, but Castiel held his wrists firmly.

“Ask.”

Easy enough. “Can I take off your clothes?”

Castiel nodded solemnly, and Dean started on the buttons, opening the pajama top to expose Castiel’s gleaming alabaster skin, broken by scars and tattoos and a single mole a breath away from the dusky rose nipple that peaked when Dean brushed it with the backs of his fingers. Dean heard Castiel inhale, and thought, _bingo._ He leaned down to take the bud into his mouth and sucked, slow and lazy, running his hands up Castiel’s back, smelling Castiel’s slick as he went.

He hadn’t tasted Cas yet, not really. Somehow Castiel had managed to keep some part of himself away from both Dean and Mary, like his ass was off-limits for some reason, and Dean didn’t like that one bit. Especially now.

He gave some time to the other nipple, peeling off the rest of Castiel’s top as he went, then pressed his chest against the older man’s, dizzy with his scent and the smooth warmth of his body. He was on his knees, on the floor in front of Castiel with no memory of having gotten there, slipping his fingers inside the waistband of the blue pajama pants and tugging them down, leaving Castiel naked, his cock fully hard and inches away from Dean’s face.

Dean sat back on his heels and looked up to find Castiel stock still, waiting.

_Ask._

“I want to suck you,” Dean said, realizing for the first time that it was more than true, that he was desperate to get Castiel’s cock in his mouth, to learn how to take this man apart.

“You don’t have to,” Castiel said. “Not ever, if it’s not something you’re interested in.”

Dean put his hands on Castiel’s hips to hold him still and dragged his lips up Castiel’s cock. The flesh was softer than Dean had expected, warm and smooth and dry, almost like silk, imbued with Castiel’s scent, dark chocolate and bourbon that made his mouth fill with saliva in anticipation. Castiel hissed.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” he choked out.

Dean dove onto Castiel’s cock and took it as deep as he could, which wasn’t deep at all, really, he’d have to work on that, and then sucked, gentle at first, and harder as he remembered what Castiel had done to him just the other night. He pulled off with a pop and returned, again and again, then wrapped his lips around the cockhead and lapped at the soft bit of flesh on the underside.

“God, Dean, your mouth, your fucking mouth…”

It wasn’t the first time he’d been praised for his mouth, but it was the first time he cared about it.

Dean felt Castiel’s fingers weave into his hair and yank, hard. Time seemed to stop, the way it had sometimes during his mother’s heat in Berlin, at the moment of perfect bliss, and Dean knew that he was meant to have this cock heavy and hot in his mouth, and that it was meant to be swelling and pulsing, and that he was supposed to feel blood moving in the veins under his lips, that he might choke a little, but it was okay, and that more than anything, he wanted Castiel to come in his mouth, deep and hard. He had no way to express this without releasing Castiel, so instead he twined one arm around his thigh to keep him from pulling away, and slid a finger of his free hand between Castiel’s legs, then up, gently, into his wet, fluttering hole, deeper and deeper until he was in all the way to the knuckle.

Castiel’s whole body jerked, shoving his cock into the back of Dean’s mouth, and Dean felt Cas come down his throat with no pretense of control, his ass clenching around Dean’s finger, moaning low and soft through it all. Dean swallowed what he could, the bittersweet aftertaste unusual but not unpleasant. Dean wanted to remember it all, the taste, the heat, and how he’d made Castiel Novak lose himself, if only for a few seconds.

Dean thought he could maybe go to sleep with Castiel’s dick in his mouth, but the fact was, his own cock was painfully hard and it didn’t look like Castiel was in any shape to remain upright for very long. He let Castiel go and coughed a little, about to swipe a thumb over his chin to get the drops of Castiel’s come that he’d missed, but Castiel beat him to it, kneeling beside him and licking up the last of it. Then he kissed Dean, not one of his soft ones but a deep, powerful kiss with lots of tongue, like Castiel was trying to taste his come in Dean’s mouth, and if Dean had been standing, his knees would have been completely fucking useless.

When he released Dean, he said, “I want to fuck you.” Baldly, brazenly, like he was only asking to be polite but knew Dean would say yes. Which he did, of course, because at this point he was Castiel’s and would do whatever Castiel wanted, including giving up his ass for the first time, but probably not the last. He figured that Castiel probably had enough experience at this point to make it feel okay, if not totally good, so whatever, except that Castiel had just come like a cracked fire hydrant, so it might be a while before he could get back in that particular game.

It didn’t mean they were done playing. Castiel had all kinds of stuff in his toy box. So to speak.

“On the bed,” Castiel said. He pulled Dean up, turned him around, and gave him a little shove to position him face-down on the mattress, sliding a pillow under Dean’s hips to tilt his ass up. He leaned over and kissed Dean’s neck, nibbled at his ears, ran his hands down Dean’s back to cup his cheeks and squeeze.

“You beautiful young man,” Castiel was murmuring. “You can’t have any idea how much I’ve wanted… you wouldn’t believe it, couldn’t…” Dean felt Castiel’s teeth sink into his ass and he knew it was supposed to hurt, but it just felt seriously fucking good and all he could do was whimper. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

He planted his hands on Dean’s ass, opened him up so that Dean felt a scant second of cool air on his hole, and then licked him, slow and sure, from his balls to the crack of his ass.

Dean whined into the pillow and felt his cock seize up along with every muscle remotely attached to it.

After taking a moment to sink his teeth into Dean’s ass again, marking him just like an alpha would, Castiel pressed his forearm over Dean’s lower back, canting his ass up higher to get better access, and resumed licking; slow, maddening strokes of his tongue against Dean’s hole, making it clear who was in charge, and it sure as fuck wasn’t Dean. He thought he ought to feel a little grossed out by the idea of someone licking his asshole but by the fifth stroke he was past the point of caring about anything but wanting this to last forever.

Castiel released his arm from Dean’s back and Dean whined in protest, because that hadn’t been nearly long enough. Castiel laughed quietly and spanked his ass on the opposite side of the bite, which made Dean squirm against the pillow.

“That’s very interesting,” Castiel murmured. “We may have to… but later.” He slid his hands up the curves of Dean’s cheeks and spread him wide, leaving Dean completely exposed again and dying for contact. Dean felt pressure around his hole, and then Castiel’s tongue again, and then, oh fuck, those were Castiel’s thumbs pulling his asshole open, his tongue licking deeper into the crevice, softening him, allowing his fingers to tease open another millimeter of stretch. Castiel hummed and moaned against Dean’s hole, like there was someone else eating him out too, but there were a few words in the mostly nonverbal mess that made Dean feel warm and stupidly happy. The deeper Castiel’s tongue went, the harder he pressed his face between Dean’s cheeks, and his stubble scraped patches of delicious heat on tender skin.

“Cas, fuck, that’s… I’m gonna come if you keep that up, please—God.”

Castiel pulled his face away long enough to say, “Relax for me, Dean. Just see what happens.” His voice was rich with saliva and sex, so deep and growly that Dean could barely stand to hear it.

Then he laid into Dean’s ass again like he was starving for it.

Dean lay still, like he was getting a massage, and once he realized that Cas wasn’t going to stop unless Santa Claus came down the fucking chimney (maybe not even then), he let himself melt into the bed and gave himself up to it. Tension began to build, a steady, inexorable pressure wrapping itself around Dean’s hips like a slow-moving Moebius strip, from Dean’s hole, moving inside his balls up to his cock and swirling back around, driven by the tongue in his ass and the confidence of his lover. He’d never come like this before, never felt like this, but there was a first time for everything, and he wondered what would happen if he just… let go.

When that last shred of resistance left him, Dean’s cock gave up the fight and he came, rutting up against the pillow and pushing back down hard onto Castiel’s waiting tongue. He rocked and whimpered through his orgasm, until Castiel leaned down onto his hips to hold him still.

Castiel gave him a few moments to recover, but only a few. Something warm and smooth circled his hole, and he was relaxed enough that the single finger slid inside with no resistance at all. It didn’t hurt or feel overly weird. He just wanted more.

He tilted his ass up to Castiel and realized that he was presenting to the older man just like an omega might, just like he had joked with his mother about not a week ago in New York, before they’d spoken a single word to the guy. He wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed, like he thought he might be—it felt right. Perfect, just like it felt to have Castiel’s cock in his mouth, except that Castiel was taking his time, and he didn’t have to.

“Cas, c’mon,” he said. “Gimme some more.”

Castiel kissed Dean’s shoulder and pulled out for long enough to retrieve a small bottle of lube from a drawer in the nightstand. Dean heard a faint click, and then silence, until a larger intrusion slid into his hole, twisting and rotating, then spreading apart to open him up. The fingers disappeared, followed again by what had to be Castiel’s thumbs, followed by the man’s fucking tongue dipping inside him again for just long enough to bring Dean’s erection back into play, which should have been an impossible achievement for anyone but his mother. If anyone could do it, it was Castiel. Obviously.

“Please,” he whispered, sucking up a string of drool that had somehow escaped his mouth as he lay in helpless bliss on the coverlet. “Please, Cas, come on.”

“It’s lovely to hear you beg, Dean,” Castiel said. “I think you’re ready.”

Castiel shifted on the bed behind him, positioned his cock just at Dean’s entrance, and leaned down to kiss his neck one last time. Then he pushed, and pushed, and pushed…

“Oh, fuck, Cas, shit—”

And the fat head of his dick popped past the tight ring of muscle, paused for a few seconds, then kept going, a fingerbreadth at a time, until Dean could feel the sharp edges of Castiel’s hips dig into his ass. Full, jammed full of Castiel’s cock, hot and heavy like it had been in his mouth, but now deep inside him, Castiel’s fingers curling around Dean’s hips and pulling him back, getting at least another inch further into Dean’s ass, and holy shit it was fucking _amazing._

Castiel rocked back like he was going to be done with it, and Dean sobbed in protest, getting in return a slow, comforting caress of Castiel’s big hand on his back.

“I’m not going to stop, Dean,” he murmured. “Not unless to tell me to.”

“No, God, don’t stop, don’t ever, oh please just move, just fuck me!”

Castiel drove his cock deep, as requested, letting him get accustomed to it, again and again, until Dean was shaking under him, the scent of fine bourbon pervading every cell in his body. Dean thought he might fly apart under Castiel’s unyielding assault, until Castiel shifted again behind him and changed the angle of his entry by a mere degree or two.

His cock brushed against something deep inside Dean that he’d heard about but honestly never believed existed, but damned sure believed it now—when Cas hit his prostate with the head of his cock, it felt like he’d been fucked with a lightning bolt, the shock going through his entire body, making him thrash until Castiel had to hold him down on the bed again with one hand between his shoulders.

“I’m going to come, Dean,” he said, finally thrusting hard and deep and hitting that spot every fucking time. “I want you to feel it. Feel me.”

Dean managed some inhuman noise that sounded enough like “yes” to keep Castiel going, pounding into Dean’s ass with no mercy whatsoever, their skin slapping together at every impact. When Castiel slammed into him one last time, he felt, actually felt, Castiel’s cock swell just like it had in Dean’s mouth, throbbing inside him, felt the circulation of blood just under Castiel’s skin like it was Dean’s skin, and for that moment they were two people in the same body, Castiel clamping his teeth onto Dean’s neck and biting down hard enough that Dean thought he might actually do it, might mate him right then and there.

“Please, yes, Cas, fuck, do it!”

Castiel gave an alpha-like snarl and rutted into Dean like an animal, coming so hard Dean could almost feel the hot spurt of Castiel’s semen inside him.

Before his tremors even stopped, Castiel slid an arm under Dean’s chest and lifted him up to his knees, Castiel’s sweat-soaked body plastered to Dean’s back. Dean felt Castiel’s hand around his neck and thought he should probably be bothered by that, but he wasn’t. He loved it, loved feeling thrown around and controlled by Castiel, loved Castiel’s cock starting up again like a machine, loved Castiel’s hand—the man was a fucking octopus—wrapping around his dick and jacking him fast and smooth and hard, just the way Dean liked it.

“Come on my cock, Dean,” he said, his voice raspy and hard. “Be my good boy and come on my cock.”

Set off by Castiel’s unfailing dick, his perfect hands, and his irresistible command, Dean came, shooting long ribbons across the bed, his body shattering against Castiel, who was now saying soft things into his ear that Dean couldn’t quite hear because someone in the room was making stupid crying baby sounds.

It was embarrassing to realize that he was the one making them—embarrassing, but not shameful, since it was Castiel who’d brought him to that point anyway, and he’d probably heard the same mindless noises from hundreds of other lovers over his lifetime. What was it his mother had said the other day? Centuries of practice?

“There you go,” Castiel said softly, guiding him back down to lay on a dry spot on the bed, pulling out with such gentleness that Dean barely felt it. Castiel found a throw blanket from somewhere and covered them up with it, then scooted closer to take his place as the big spoon in the cuddle, because it was totally a cuddle and no one would ever be able to convince Dean otherwise.

Castiel kissed the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean felt his nose rubbing against the same spot.

“You’re scenting me, man,” he said.

“I am,” Castiel agreed. “Because you smell like heaven must feel. Is that a problem?”

“After what you just did to me? Have at it.”

“Mm. Tell me how you are.”

“What?” Dean thought he sounded as dumb as he felt, asking the question.

“On a scale of one to ten, one being suicidal, ten being ecstasy beyond imagination, how are you? This is important.”

“How do I know what a ten is if it’s beyond imagination?”

“It’s not too late to put coal in your stocking. Tell me how you are.”

“Eleven. Maybe eleven-five,” Dean murmured.

“I’m losing my touch. I want you at fifteen next time.”

“It’s important to have goals.”

Castiel laughed, and since he was pressed so close behind him, Dean felt it through his whole body, and it almost made the thought he’d had before go away. Centuries of practice.

“Hey, Cas? I gotta ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“What are we to you? Me and Mom. Other than family, I mean. You’re kind of a new sort of person for both of us, and I got no idea how your mind works since you’ve been around for so long. So—”

“Are you calling me old? Reference what I said about coal and stockings just a few moments ago.”

“Yeah, old and decrepit, obviously. Don’t change the subject. I guess pretty much everything’s short-term given your lifespan, but it’s not for ours. So I want to know what your intentions are towards my mother, especially. And towards me, I guess. Is that too much to ask?”

“You’ve opened Pandora’s box, so it’s too late to be asking that question. And anyway it deserves consideration. But for once in my life, I don’t know what my intentions are. I know what my job is, and I know that it’s not conducive to bonding with lovers, let alone mating, but it feels like I’m bonding with you anyway. With both of you. As I said the other day, it’s you and your mother or neither.”

He began running his fingers through Dean’s hair like he was a pet, and Dean had absolutely zero problem with that.

“So after tomorrow, maybe after the new year, if we stay here that long, I’ll have to leave, and it will feel horrible, as though someone has died. Claire will be a mess, because betas can scent-bond, too, just not on quite the same level.”

“So Sam will feel it.”

“Yes. But long-distance relationships can work, from what I—”

“You said relationship,” Dean mumbled, Castiel’s hand in his hair as effective as any sleeping pill.

“I did. I don’t often have casual sex, and I certainly don’t spend holidays with people I don’t care about. Does that answer your question?”

“Mostly,” Dean said, surrounded by warmth and affection and the smells of Castiel and his mother. He tried and failed to stifle an enormous yawn. “‘Night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean. Merry Christmas.”

So Dean had at least another week home with his family and the Novaks, who were way more awesome than they had any right to be, even Claire. His mother had finally let him back into her bed, and the hottest guy on the planet just told him he was special, if not in so many words. Doubts could go fuck themselves for a while, because it was definitely going to be a merry Christmas.


	21. Christmas cheer

The tattoo artist had advised against swimming for the first two weeks after an inking, but Mary couldn’t miss out on lap time, especially not now, when spikes of irrational anxiety were starting to puncture the uneven peace she’d found after New York. So with Dean’s help, she re-bandaged the tattoo more securely, got suited up for laps, and disappeared into the pool, hoping for serenity.

Usually swimming calmed her, no matter what insanity was happening in her general vicinity. Usually playing calmed her, something about the resonance of the violin, the steadiness of posture, the marriage of mind and music that had been her primary source of comfort for years before Dean and Sam came into the picture, even before she’d married John.

Usually sex calmed her, or at least it had before Berlin, and certainly she’d had enough of that over the last few days to put her into a coma. It was possible she’d had more orgasms since the concert than she’d had during her honeymoon, which was saying something, because John had been an animal in bed back then.

Nothing was working today, and everything troublesome in her head seemed to be circling around John. Maybe the beginning of what might be a relationship with Dean and Castiel, impossible though it seemed, was bringing up memories of how things had ended with her husband. They’d started off so well together, but over the course of two sons and fourteen years, John had become disgusted with Mary and how much she needed from him, and conveniently found a woman who wouldn’t stop him from hunting. Hunting always had been his first love, after all, no matter how much he tried to deny it, so the irony that he’d been killed in a garden-variety werewolf attack had not been lost on her. Some hunter he turned out to be. He’d confessed to everything the night before he died and sometimes she wished he hadn’t. Wished he’d just gone straight to hell and taken his lies with him.

Instead, he’d left her choking on secrets, and her sad little omega gland had driven her into the arms of one man after another, desperate to avoid living the last half of her life as a zombie.

Until Dean. Her oldest, her sweetheart, her lover, even though Castiel would serve just as well now, and was she going to hell for wanting them both? What was worse, turning Dean away again, or allowing him to stay with a woman he couldn’t legally mate, who couldn’t give him children, who would die decades before him?

She shifted from the rhythmic breaststroke to freestyle and accelerated, feeling the muscles in her shoulders burn, working that much harder to purge the stubborn anxiety.

If she could only just let go of the feeling that she was damaging her son, if she could kill her conscience and give herself over to him, she could spend the rest of her sexually active years in a state of carnal bliss, and could likely make him happy, too.

Well, fuck it. She was altogether sick and tired of the argument, and swimming wasn’t helping resolve it.

She cooled down with a slow breaststroke, got out, and toweled down as best she could. Her last task before bed was putting presents under the tree, because that’s just what you did when you had clever kids as inquisitive as monkeys with less self-control. It always seemed so damned noisy, with the ornaments jingling against each other, the branches swishing, the crackling of wrapped boxes already under the tree jostling for space. One Christmas the boys had gotten bikes, and the noise of getting them inside from the garage had woken a nine-year-old Sam, who missed tripping over his mother by half a second at most. Mary had hidden behind the tree and heard the conversation between the brothers, holding her breath to keep herself from laughing.

_Dude, get down here, you gotta see this!_

_No! Sam, come on, you’re gonna ruin the surprise and also Santa won’t ever come back here._

_But they’re so shiny!_

_Get back to bed, bitch!_

_Jerk._

But Sam had gone back to bed, and by now he was wise enough to know that the best place to spend Christmas Eve was in his bedroom, even if he did stay awake all night.

Job done, Mary exhaled in relief at successfully avoiding detection for one more year and opened the bedroom door carefully, even though she knew the hinges in the door didn’t creak because Dean had oiled them two days before in a manic fit of household maintenance that had less to do with the state of the house and more to do with showing off for Castiel. Alphas found all kinds of ways to demonstrate their worth for their omegas, and if Dean’s methods included baking pies and changing the oil on the family cars, she wasn’t going to argue.

She was last to bed, and Dean and Castiel had turned in a few hours before, leaving the nightlight on for her. The scents of male semen and slick lay heavy in the air, the combination not unpleasant, but very strong. The men were naked on the bed, barely covered by the sheet, loosely tangled together with one of Dean’s long legs thrown over Castiel’s muscled thigh, their fingers interlaced on Castiel’s hip. She would have bet money that they’d started off crowded against each other, and then had flipped over so Dean could cool down; he always was a hot sleeper.

They were beautiful. Mary felt her nipples tighten under the cooling fabric of her bathing suit, and not because of the chill. She went through an abbreviated bedtime routine, just enough to get the salty pool water off her skin and brush her teeth, donned a light flannel nightgown made of Christmas plaid, and slid into bed on Castiel’s side, since the men were taking up most of her territory and Dean was flopped caddy-corner with his face smooshed into her pillow.

She was asleep after a few deep breaths of dark-chocolate-and-whiskey, seconds after realizing that the hand resting on her hip was Castiel’s.

_The smell of the alpha is all around her, of open graves and rot, settling into her skin, her mouth, her lungs. The demon’s face looms so close she could touch it if she wanted, but she doesn’t want, it’s abhorrent—the mottled gray-green skin is frog-wet and slimy, and when the face leans in she tries to turn her head away but she’s trapped by the thick, cold wire around her neck, like an animal caught in a snare, choking on her own terrified, desperate squeals, they’re animals, all of them, alphas grunting like pigs when they push inside her, spreading and twisting her in ways a body isn’t supposed to go, she tries to be still, so quiet, tries not to breathe in the bitter ammonia of unknown alphas, tries not to vomit but the hot bile comes up anyway, they barely free her in time to keep her from choking on it and then she’s back in the bench, legs spread wide, face down, mouth held up and open so more alphas can come, and she’s grateful she can’t, even though it’s agonizing, she won’t give these monsters what’s meant only for her alpha, God, please let him come soon, please she knows it’s only fair that the punishment is delivered like this, but this is enough, it has to be enough, please Alpha—_

“Mary.”

A voice, a scent, a touch pulls her back to the waking world, and she knows him immediately, not her alpha, but her mate nonetheless.

Mate? No. That’s not right. Her lover. No more mates for Mary.

“Mary, talk to me, darling.” Castiel’s rough, low voice came from behind her, where they were sharing a pillow on the big bed. “Do you want me to wake Dean?”

“No.” Her voice was as ragged as Castiel’s, as if she’d just been taken out of the room in Moabit.

“Can I touch you?”

It was a legitimate question. She hadn’t had that particular dream in a couple of months, and she’d been alone when she woke, so there was no way to tell how she would respond to physical contact. Dr. Barnes would be disappointed if she didn’t explore it, though.

“I don’t know.”

“May I try?”

“Okay.”

Castiel ran his hand over her head, using his fingers in her hair only after she’d relaxed enough to accept the deeper touch. She turned over to face him but tucked her head under his chin, unable to bear his gaze for more than a moment.

When he began to massage the muscles in her shoulders, coming close to the nape of her neck and John’s mating scar, she started to cry, and he held her loosely in the circle of his arms, murmuring soft, comforting things that she barely heard but understood their intent. She rolled closer and he took the hint, pulling her chest against him and moving his head so she could scent him if she wanted.

She did, and skimmed his throat with her nose until she heard his breathing grow deep and solid, the kind of breath someone uses when they’re trying to control very strong responses. Dean had sounded like that sometimes when he had visited her after Berlin, when they were curled up on the couch watching movies. She knew what it meant.

“Castiel, I’m sorry, right now I just can’t…”

“Mary Winchester, you’re not allowed to apologize to me. It’s not your fault you’re brilliant and kind and beautiful, or that you smell like strawberries grown in heaven, and it’s not my fault that my cock responds to that. It just is. Shall we leave it at that?”

“No. We have to have this conversation sometime. Cas, I don’t think I’m capable of… I’m just… I’m not—”

“Don’t you dare tell me you’re broken.”

“All right, I won’t. But we both know I am.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” he said. He pulled away, far enough to lift her chin when he spoke next. “I’ve lived for over a thousand years and have loved and lost more people than I care to name, done horrible things and had them done to me many times over, and I feel sometimes as though I’ve been destroyed and put myself back together again a hundred times. Sometimes it’s taken decades, sometimes centuries. I know what broken feels like, and if you insist on using the term, then I’ll have to agree that yes, you’re broken. You were broken when John died, leaving you with a curse that pushed you into the arms of your son. You were broken when Azazel took you in Berlin. Every time you dream of it, you crack a little more. And every time you pick up your violin, every time you hug your children and friends, or walk out onto a stage in front of thousands of people, or make a fucking movie, for Christ’s sake, Mary, and tell the entire world what you went through, for the sake of a million other people, you solder more cracks closed than you open up. Rest assured that more things will hurt you over the course of your life, and you’ll spend more time patching up the cracks, and those won’t ever go away, not completely. But it won’t stop you from being who you are, who you need to be. Do you know how I know?”

Mary shook her head, unable to speak.

He moved closer and whispered in her ear.

“I know, because you’re wet for me, just from the sound of my voice and the scent of my skin. And because someone loving you, right now, is more important than someone hurting you, before.”

God, he was right. And now that he mentioned it, she couldn’t deny that her body’s response to him was becoming stronger than her reaction to the dream—her leaking slick was drowning out the images, the smells, the fear, leaving with only one question.

He answered it for her, gazing at her intently, judging her consent, as he took her hand and put it on his erection, which practically jumped to meet her touch even through the thin sleep pants he had put on at some point after she’d come to bed. _Do you want this?_

She nodded, wordless, and helped him slide the pajama pants down while he tried to lift her nightgown above her waist, which didn’t work very well and made her giggle. Eventually they got enough parts naked to get on with things, and Castiel lifted Mary’s leg over his hip, sliding his hand up her thigh, over the curve of her buttocks and up her spine, touching each vertebrae on the way. She sighed, and Castiel leaned in, cupping the nape of her neck and breathing her scent from the curve of her shoulder.

"We grow strawberries at the estate in Provence," he said into her neck.

"Which is possibly the sexiest thing you could ever say to me."

"And their scent could never compare to you, Mary. You make my mouth water, and I haven't even gotten a real taste of you yet." He bit her neck gently, and she couldn’t help the tiny gasp that escaped when the sensation flew from his teeth to the tender flesh between her legs.

He pushed her onto her back and let his hand glide down her body, pausing at her nipples long enough for light flicks of his tongue and fingers to make a mess of her. The hand continued until it reached the vee of her legs, where he slipped his thumb between her wet folds and stroked her clitoris. He worked two long, clever fingers inside her with very little resistance and pumped once, twice, and on the third stroke she came hard against him, her hands tight in his hair, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

"Show off," she said, panting from the climax. “That shouldn’t even be possible.”

He pulled his hand from inside her and showed her the shine of her slick on his palm. Without breaking eye contact, he licked his hand from wrist to fingers, then slipped his finger into her mouth. She sucked it greedily, until Castiel pulled it out and kissed her, his tongue delving into her mouth as if trying to get her taste back.

Without breaking the kiss, Castiel found the proper angle, readjusted his hips, and pushed into her slowly, so slowly that she could barely hear the sheets move underneath them. He didn’t stop until he was seated completely, where he could tilt his hips and hit her center without seeming to try.

“How hard can I go, Mary?”

“Not sure,” she said, rolling her hips up to meet his, both twined together by Mary’s legs over the backs of Castiel’s thighs. “Let’s find out.”

“How hard” turned out to be pretty damned hard, actually. Castiel used his cock like a hammer, fucking her with power that Dean couldn’t match, simply because Dean had to pull his punch at the last second or end up hurting her. Castiel’s bigger-than-average-omega’s cock was a perfect fit, his plump cockhead dragging along her inside walls, stretching her just beyond enough, and when she couldn’t keep still any longer she squeezed him so hard she almost trapped him inside her.

“Damn it,” he growled, and propped one of her ankles in the curve of his shoulder, stretching her as far as any yoga position had ever done, his cock hitting the deepest parts of her effortlessly, incredibly. She felt him swell inside her, just like an alpha would, and wrapped her free leg around his ass to pull him even deeper. He came silently, pressing his forehead hard against hers and shuddering for what felt like forever.

“Jesus fuck, that’s so goddamn hot.”

Startled, Mary turned to see her son watching them, naked, cock in hand, jerking himself and close to coming, to judge by the angry color of his leaking cock head and the telltale beginnings of an impressive knot.

“I’m not done,” Castiel said, only a little breathless. He turned to Mary and said, “Stay.” She saw no reason to move, but then Dean scooted over and began kissing her, and Castiel spread her legs even wider than they were before and took his tongue to her clit again. All of a sudden it was damned hard to be still. Impossible, actually.

“Can you come for us, Mom?” Dean whispered against her lips, as Castiel sucked on her clit like his life depended on it. “I really wanna see you come when he’s licking you.”

Mary moaned something that was probably profane (she was going to hell anyway, might as well have a proper script), and when Dean twisted a hand in Castiel’s hair and shoved him down harder on Mary’s pussy, it pushed her over the edge. Her hips thrashed even under Castiel’s powerful grip and she came hard, covering Castiel’s face and neck with an ungodly amount of slick that probably would have been embarrassing if she could bring herself to care.

“Fucking hell.” Dean groaned, deep in his gut, and after a few more jerks on his dick, came on his mother’s belly, painting her stomach and hips with generous ribbons of come, accidentally (maybe) getting some in Castiel’s hair.

Mary giggled, and Dean said, “Damn, Mom, is that what you think of my dick? You should have said something.”

Mary giggled again, and couldn’t stop laughing for a very long time, even while Castiel was licking Dean’s come from her belly. Dean pushed him off and lapped at his neck, tasting Mary’s slick on Castiel’s neck, where his scent was strongest.

“I gotta make a pie out of that,” he said, wiping his mouth on his arm. “Merry Christmas, you kinky fuckers,” Dean said. “Come on already, the kids’ll be up soon. Last one in the shower’s a dog turd!”

It was no surprise when Dean beat them both to it.

There was already an unofficial competition for best Christmas present within the Novak and Winchester families, but the rivalry grew exponentially as soon as the Impala and Ghost had hit the road several days before. No one seemed to be picky about where the gifts came from or how absurd they were; the sillier the better, so the enormous box of towels and bed linens that Castiel gave his new lovers got a groan of disappointed disgust from the kids and a deep blush from Mary. Winchester complexions seemed to give them away, every time. Dean and Sam had planned for Christmas months ahead, and had managed to get a custom-made David Attenborough bobble-head doll as well as a signed head shot from the man himself that said, “To Mary Winchester - my hero.” Mary gave Claire a weighted blanket scented by Castiel to help with insomnia, which Claire had told Sam about months ago when they were building the parent trap.

But the winner was Claire, by a mile. For Castiel, she’d wrapped up a suspiciously familiar placard that said _Mary Winchester_, which happened to be exactly the same style and font as the names on the performers’ dressing rooms at the Debussy Recital Hall. It took Castiel a second to realize that no one else in the room knew what it meant.

“Share with the class, Castiel,” Sam said, when the class caught Castiel sniffling, just once.

Beaming, Claire jumped in to explain. “The concert hall, remember? When Mary played the Saj? I switched the name plates from her dressing room to the bathroom. So when Dad thought he’d found the restroom, he actually barged in on Mary, who was probably—oh, I don’t know, changing clothes, maybe?”

Mary’s blush turned crimson, and Sam and Claire hooted at the three adults with glee.

“Dude, that’s fantastic!” Sam said, and they split a high-five.

“I know!” Claire crowed. “Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to punk my dad? I’ve been trying for the last thirty freaking years. And I’ve got plenty of time to do it again—especially with accomplices,” she said, winking at Dean, who winked back and then fixed Cas with a long, considering stare. Castiel remembered with a mild shock what he’d seen in Mary’s dressing room, wanting to lick—

“_Dad!_” Claire said. “We are totally done with the prezzies, you want in the kitchen or not?”

Castiel moved to help but was stopped by a wall of Winchesters, with Sam front and center.

“All due respect, Mr. Novak—”

Dean snorted.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam said. “I’m sorry but you can’t cook with Mom and Dean this year. They can mostly behave around each other but I don’t think we’d ever get to eat if you three were responsible for cooking and honestly you guys are kinda gross and unsanitary and you should really just stay out of the kitchen,” Sam continued without pause, guiding Castiel backwards towards the sofa where Claire was sliding under her new blanket with a happy sigh.

Before accepting his banishment, Castiel hijacked the music and picked a playlist that was called “Anything but Christmas, Jazz Edition.” Claire couldn’t have hated it too much, since she wiggled around until her head was wedged between Castiel’s shoulder and the sofa which didn’t look at all comfortable, but she was asleep and snoring in a matter of minutes.

Castiel didn’t have the heart to move her, even though he wanted to check in on his assets. There were eight; one in Ukraine, two in Bahrain, a male beta and a female omega, who could get into the cloistered areas, two in the United States, one in Mexico City, one in Bogota, and the last one on a break in Bali. He kept track of her, too. Just in case.

“Sam,” he called into the kitchen. He gestured to his laptop and Sam handed it over then ducked back into the kitchen.

Cas buried himself in emails, reports, and check-ins, and noticed that the agent in Ukraine and the female in Bahrain had moved, both of them further west, but neither of them had communicated a plan to relocate. Gilda and Elphaba (he called them Gil and Elf, because they were the most ridiculous code names he’d ever heard) were fanatics for status reports and communiqués, so he should have gotten an explanation for the movement already.

He was able to reach his cell on the coffee table without disturbing Claire, but not by much, and texted Gabriel for an explanation. He got a quick reply back.

_You cannot possibly be working. It’s Christmas fucking morning and I feel exactly like shit. Go away._

Castiel explained the situation and Gabriel promised to look into it as soon as the dog gave up some hair from Christmas Eve.

_Sooner, please._

_Did I mention go away?_

When he returned his attention to the Winchesters, he watched them work in the kitchen for a while, dancing around each other like they could have done it blindfolded, Dean dusted with flour for a pie crust, Mary slathering herbed Cornish hens with what had to be an illegal amount of butter, Sam chopping vegetables for a salad and rolling his eyes every time Dean claimed that salad at Christmas was heresy. The argument seemed to be a long-standing one, but was put on hold when Sam went off to get properly dressed, leaving Dean and Mary alone in the kitchen.

Mary had already changed while Castiel was working, and he’d been too busy to notice her dress, which was, in its own way, every bit as enticing as the one she’d worn to the reception just a few days before. Even under the white apron, Castiel saw that the crimson fabric flowed over her hips like water, spilling down to her knees in a gentle wave of a skirt that barely showed the slit up to mid-thigh. Dean knew it was there, though, and was already slipping agile fingers inside it and getting his hand smacked.

“Shouldn’t you be working on the prime rib?” she said.

“Mom, it’s been in the oven for an hour already, where’s your head?”

“Then go keep Castiel company, he’s working too hard.”

Dean shot Castiel a wicked look. “All kinds of things I could say to that, Mom.”

“Don’t hold back on my account,” she said. “Just make sure Claire’s good and asleep before you—”

“’M awake,” Claire said, sitting up to display the impressive bed-head that had resulted from her nap. “Going back to bed. Too loud. Music sucks.”

She shuffled off to Dean’s room with her blanket in tow, and Castiel smiled at Mary. “Apparently a wonderful gift,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I hope it’ll last. You never know with these things.”

“I think it will,” Dean said, taking Claire’s place on the sofa next to Castiel, and while Mary hadn’t been talking about the three of them explicitly, Dean was. “I think it’ll last longer than anyone can imagine.”

Mary emerged from the kitchen long enough to kiss both the men and sneak a quick scenting before going back to work, where she swayed from task to task along with the music, seemingly unaware that she was being watched.

“She wears that dress once a year,” Dean said, as though he knew Castiel had been staring at it. “I can’t remember a Christmas without it. That slit up the side… you wouldn’t notice it unless she wanted you to. Then she could pretend it was an accident and cover it up.”

“Jesus, Dean, did she do that to you all your life? It’s no wonder you ended up with mommy issues.” Castiel sat up and slid behind Dean on the sofa, pressing his half-hard cock against Dean’s ass while they both watched Mary cook. Dean shifted back against him in a not-so-subtle acknowledgment of the contact.

“Don’t be mean,” he said. “It wasn’t directed at me. Dad liked it and I was just in the room, couldn’t help noticing. You know?”

Castiel grunted in agreement.

Mary finished tossing a bowlful of vegetables with oil and herbs then set it aside to wash her hands. She stretched, yawned, and turned her back on the men to untie the back strings of her apron. Slowly. Like a striptease. As she hung apron up in the pantry, Castiel saw that the dress was a wrap-around, the kind with a tie on one side to hold the overlapping sides together.

He kissed Dean on the side of his neck, using some teeth. “So in all that time, did you ever wonder what would happen if you just pulled the ribbon on the side of the dress?”

“Yeah. I did kinda wonder that sometimes.”

“You think it would just fall open completely or would we have to work to get her out of it?”

“You wanna find out?”

“Desperately.” Castiel’s cock moved on its own to prove it, swelling a little more with the added stimulation. These Winchesters. “It’s already been a very educational morning.”

“Dude, does your dick ever sleep? I’m not complaining, but damn.”

“Does yours? Angels have amazing recuperative powers, even imperfect ones like us. So the refractory period is relatively brief.”

“I’d totally forgotten about the angel thing. I thought it was just because I was a sex god. Thanks for reminding me.”

“I get the impression you’re being sarcastic,” Castiel said.

“I get the impression you’re being an ass.”

Castiel smacked Dean’s ass with a well-placed hand, making him yelp. “We can discuss asses later. Right now, it’s your mother I’m concerned about. She looks hungry.”

She did, actually, and was foraging around in the kitchen with the air of someone who is about to eat the first edible thing she finds, which happened to be half a cinnamon roll from earlier that morning. She heated it in the microwave for a few seconds, took a bite, then realized she was being watched.

She licked cinnamon sugar from her thumb, her eyes moving from Dean to Castiel and back, and sauntered over to them, swaying her hips a little more than was absolutely necessary.

“Dean,” Castiel said into Dean’s ear, “that’s called preening.”

“That’s called teasing,” Dean said, as Mary came closer and softly brushed her nose against their necks again. “She’s not the only one doing it.”

“It’s not teasing if you’re going to follow through,” she said, her dark blue gaze daring them both to challenge her.

Castiel did. “Follow-through was always a strength of mine. So when I make promises, I intend to keep them.” He slid his hand inside the front of Dean’s shirt, making the young man shiver, and stroked his chest while he made his intentions clear. “First, I want to lay you on the dinner table and feed you Dean’s cock until he comes on your face.”

“Please,” Mary whispered.

“Then I want to fuck you so hard you soak through all those brand new towels with your slick.” He slid his hand down to encircle Dean’s cock through his thin pants. “Does it sound like I’m teasing?”

Mary shook her head. “But I… I have to finish the hens. And peel potatoes. And chop pecans for your pie, Dean. But you two should have some time together while the kids are napping.”

“So you were teasing,” Dean said, having a hard time speaking with Castiel’s hands all over him.

“I didn’t say I could be available now.”

“God, please, Mary, we’re begging,” Castiel growled.

“Damn it,” she said. “The hens. It’s a food safety thing, they can’t sit out for… but… I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

“I’ll handle it, Mom,” Dean said. “You guys go, I’ll be right there.”

Castiel didn’t wait on Mary to decide, but took her hand and led her into the bedroom, closing the door quietly.

“I can’t take your dress off yet,” he said. “I have to wait for Dean; we want to know how it comes off. Still.” He shuffled her backwards until her knees hit the edge of the bed and she fell with a soft gasp. “I can do this.”

He slid his hands up her legs and spread her knees wide, without lifting her dress just yet, running the palms of his hands over her inner thighs, squeezing a little too hard, hoping to leave a bruise or two for Dean to lick the next day. Jesus God, how long could it take him to put some birds in the oven? Castiel was as fond of Christmas dinner as most people, but Mary was panting, and her scent was beginning to drive away any shreds of decency that had made it this far. Dean was just going to have to catch up.

Castiel gathered the fabric of Mary’s dress and pushed it up to her hips, but not above her waist, holding to his unspoken agreement with Dean. He slipped a finger under the soft lace of her panties, running it down the crease of her thigh, making her squirm.

“Not yet, darling,” he said. “Our boy will be here soon. In the meantime…” It took only the pad of one finger, barely skimming over her clit, to make her whine, just in time for Dean to open the door and poke his head in.

“I haven’t touched the dress yet. Mostly.”

“Um, yeah, I can see that,” Dean said. “Stand her up. Gravity’s important.”

Mary tried to regain her feet but her legs just weren’t working very well, and Castiel had to pull her to standing and order her to stay. She did, and Castiel took the opportunity to finally pull the tie on the little bow that held the wrap dress together. Slowly, just like she’d taken off the apron. The dress opened partway, revealing half of a lacy black bra with gold embroidery and matching panties, and then Dean reached over to unsnap the other part of the wrap, leaving both sides hanging, exposing her to their hungry gazes, from her barely-tamed hair to her perfectly shaped breasts to her trim waist and soft, kissable belly, to—

“Fuck me,” Dean whispered. He slipped his hands under the shoulders of the dress and it fell away, floating to the floor. Castiel thoughtfully set it aside, then leaned in close to take one nipple into his mouth through the bra, then the other.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. “Why is that so hot? Shouldn’t I be jealous or something?”

Castiel left Mary for a moment and grabbed a handful of Dean’s hair, then pulled Dean’s mouth to his in a deep, urgent kiss, full of tongue and spit and possession. Then he went back to Mary, who had let out a deep, appreciative sigh when the men kissed. He unhooked her bra with a sliver of regret—she had spectacular taste in lingerie—and returned his attention to her now bare nipples, using his hands and mouth to turn her into a quivering mess in his arms. That done, he laid her on the bed and rearranged her with her head falling back over the side of the mattress. It was a shame this couldn’t be done on the dining room table, but maybe later in the week…

“Dean. Take off her panties and fuck her with your tongue, please. Don’t do it too well, I don’t want her to come yet.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Dean did as he was told, stripping the underwear off his mother and burying his face between her legs with not a lot of warning but a whole lot of enthusiasm. Castiel watched as Dean took her apart with his tongue, lick by slow lick, punctuated by loving little sucks to her clitoris. Castiel slid his hands down her chest, grazing her nipples with his palms, then moved down her body and hooked her knees with his arms. He lifted her knees to her shoulders to open her wide, giving Dean plenty of room to work his tongue inside her. Castiel watched, fascinated, as Dean’s tongue disappeared into his mother’s dark pink flesh. Clearly it wasn’t his first time.

Mary had already been well warmed up a few hours before, and took the stretch easily. Once she was so relaxed her eyes could barely stay open, Castiel slid two fingers, wet with his own slick, into her mouth. She moaned softly.

Things were about to get very messy. Castiel dug his fingers into Dean’s hair and jerked his head up to get his attention, then told Dean to strip, which he did, tossing clothes off the bed without much care where they went. Castiel did the same, then returned his fingers to Mary’s mouth while drinking in the sight of her son across the bed, Dean’s sweetly bowed legs pointing up to that magnificent cock, hard and dripping and so heavy it couldn’t stay up on its own. Still, it did just fine when Dean started to stroke himself, using his own pre-come to keep his hand slick.

“Dean, I promised I would give her your cock, but you’re doing such a good job I wouldn’t want to interrupt. May I have her mouth?”

Dean swayed on the bed, like he was a little drunk, but managed to groan something vaguely affirmative and returned to his assignment between his mother’s legs.

“Are you ready for me, love?” he asked quietly. She nodded and sucked harder on his fingers, clearly a “yes.” He stroked her neck and jaw, enjoying the idea of making her hoarse for Christmas dinner, felt for his own wetness and slicked himself up with it, then gave Mary his cock one slow inch at a time. Letting her head drop back over the edge of the bed, she opened her mouth wide, giving him full access to throat as her son drove his tongue into her from the other side. They were both exquisite, Castiel thought, so beautiful and obedient, and they might not even know how naturally submissive they were—although Castiel was determined to show them, in time.

Castiel heard Dean swallowing Mary’s slick and knew the restraint had to be killing him. Best not to push him too hard yet.

“All right, Dean. Fuck her for us.”

With no further encouragement needed, Dean surged up the bed and into Mary. Gagged as she was on Castiel’s cock, Mary couldn’t cry out, but she did whimper adorably, making Castiel’s balls tighten up against his groin. Dean’s cock had to be the most eager one on the planet, but not the most enduring, and as he pounded steadily into his mother, Castiel thought that it wouldn’t be long before they both spilled inside her, and wouldn’t that be a lovely sight?

“Slow down,” Castiel cautioned. “Let her come first. And kiss me. I want to taste you both.”

Dean obeyed, slowing his thrusts and kissing him over Mary’s body, letting Castiel capture a taste of her overflowing slick. God, they were both delicious.

“Good boy,” Castiel whispered, shifting his cock to let him another degree deeper into Mary’s throat. She hadn’t stopped her soft moans, and while she couldn’t give explicit consent to the invasion, she dug her fingernails into Castiel’s waist and drew him even closer, until he felt her lips tickle the neat, dark hair around the base of his cock. While Dean would beat him in a contest of size, Castiel wasn’t a small man by any means, and it was unusual for anyone, male or female, to take him with such eagerness and skill. Mary pushed him away and choked for a moment, then took a deep breath and sucked him back in, hard, her lips tight around him, eliciting a groan that Castiel hoped wasn’t loud enough to be heard in the other room.

Dean watched his mother deep-throat Castiel with his lips parted in hungry fascination. As though he didn’t want to be left out, he seated her legs around his waist, making her thighs tremble from the deeper penetration. Her belly quivered and her moans, barely audible through the cock in her mouth, shifted to a desperate, needy pitch. Dean had to be feeling her orgasm approaching, and Castiel had a good idea of what would happen then.

“Dean,” he said sternly. “Don’t knot her. There’s no time.”

“O-okay,” Dean stammered, panting. “Don’t knot. Okay. Fuck.”

Castiel felt Mary keen around his cock, and he found himself at the edge of a climax before his partner—or partners, in this case—got there. Hell if he was going to let that happen.

“Dean, can you hold off? She’s very close.”

Dean shot him a glare of such fierce frustration that it almost knocked Castiel back, which would have been a disaster.

“Yes,” he said. “But I have to—”

“Do what you have to do,” Castiel said.

Dean pulled out and circled his knot with both hands, squeezing so tight it looked painful. Castiel wasn’t a fan of ruining orgasms, but it was tempting nonetheless, to see the lengths to which Dean would go to please his mother. He slid what looked like three fingers inside Mary and began fucking her hard and fast, like Castiel himself had done the first time the three of them were together.

It was possible that Dean did it better. Maybe.

Mary tapped Castiel on the thigh and he pulled out of her mouth immediately, giving her a chance to take a huge breath before grabbing a handful of Dean’s hair and jerking him down to kiss her while he continued his assault. Harder, faster, deeper, until Castiel felt sure it was hurting Mary, but it seemed to make her insane with pleasure, her face flushing deep red, tears slipping down the edge of her face until she bowed up under Dean, arched her back, and came with the beginnings of a howl that the betas would have heard, and the neighbors two houses down, except that Dean covered her mouth with a brutal kiss that made Castiel harder than he was already.

They held Mary through the orgasm, which seemed to last longer than most, until her heart finally slowed to a more normal pace and she could take notice of where she was. And who she was with. She saw that things hadn’t quite been finished between the three of them, since the men were facing each other over her body, jerking themselves fast and firm, expressions dark and almost angry.

“Castiel,” she said, slapping his ass to get his attention. “Dean’s been so good. You should finish him with your mouth. I want to watch.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Dean said. “I’ve been really good, haven’t I?” He sat and scooted back against the headboard. “Did everything you said.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “You did.” As he engulfed Dean’s dick with his mouth, he heard Mary gasp in something like shock, something like wonder, and knew that watching him suck her son’s alpha cock down to the root was every bit as arousing as it was for Castiel to watch Dean fuck his mother. The fact was that Dean was just irresistible, no matter what he was doing, and watching him come, and making him come, well, anyone would want to—

Behind him, something hot and wet moved against his taint, and he felt a rush of astonished pleasure as he realized that it had to be Mary’s tongue. It drew a groan from him that must have sent delicious vibrations to the head of Dean’s cock, which was already a furious crimson and now turned dark purple with desperate need. It was time to end his torment, but Mary was lapping at Castiel’s hole with enough determination that he could barely pay attention to what he was supposed to be doing. A few men had done this to him over the years, but she was the first woman to have tried it, and she did it with as much fervor as Dean had sucked him down the night before. Winchesters apparently did nothing by halves.

She made it worse when she slid a finger inside him next to her tongue, triggering an uncommon rush of slick that dripped down his balls until she spread it onto his cock and stroked him firmly. Between her hand on his cock and her fingers probing deeply inside him—it had to be at least two now, maybe three, women had smaller fingers—he had no chance of holding out, not when his ass was clenching and his entire body was throbbing, nipples so hard they hurt, skin so tender that the slightest touch would tear him apart.

When she finally felt his prostate, he couldn’t help but cry out, no matter who was listening, and she turned ruthless, driving into him with a focused determination that brought every sensation into shattering convergence. With Dean’s cock blocking his throat, Castiel came so hard he very nearly passed out, but Dean pulled him off long enough for him to take a huge breath. And then he shoved Castiel’s head back down and fucked his face like any wild alpha would, finally shooting into Castiel’s throat while Mary continued her relentless assault on Castiel’s ass and cock until the last of his conscious awareness lost the battle against pure, devastating pleasure.

Some time later, he heard Dean and Mary talking from very far away but couldn’t make out more than a few sentences.

_I think he’s okay. Shame I didn’t get to see him swallow you._

_You were kinda busy, Mom. Well, his heart rate’s good but it’s hard to tell for an angel, you know?_

_I think he’s just exhausted. He spends a lot of time taking care of other people. Doesn’t sleep much._

_Deserves a nap, you think?_

_Clearly._

When Castiel finally came back to himself, he was alone, cleaned up, and wrapped like a baby in the other half of the duvet.

He’d never felt so gloriously ravished in his life.

He emerged from the swaddle and found his clothes, which someone had folded neatly and set on the bench at the end of the bed. The scent of a homemade meal seeped under the door and without bothering about hair or shoes, Castiel dressed and joined the rest of his family for Christmas dinner.

And when the other four howled in amusement at the wild nest of his fucked-out hair, Castiel couldn’t stop himself from grinning so widely that his face actually hurt. He glanced at Claire and saw that her smile matched his, and that was the best part of Christmas.


	22. Christmas goes sideways

Normally, Castiel would have offered his help in the kitchen but he’d been told that it was actually less than helpful, since his cooking skills were diverse but inefficient, and in some cases, patently destructive. Claire, on the other hand, had learned how to make microwave popcorn at the tender age of seven, and under Castiel’s lax supervision, had graduated to macaroni and cheese at eight. At nine, her recipe consisted of four types of cheeses, perfectly cooked cavatappi, prosciutto sliced so fine you could see light through it, and a topping of crushed crackers drowned in butter. She made it for her uncle Michael at every opportunity, and no one needed to ask why—heart attacks weren’t common in the Novak family, but Claire’s mac and cheese would trigger one, if nothing else would. And she really didn’t like Michael very much at all.

Claire’s contributions to the Winchester-Novak Christmas dinner were simple but elegant—the mashed potatoes consisted of, yes, potatoes, fresh parsley, and enough garlic-infused butter that she refused to disclose the exact amount. When she discovered the basic recipe for green bean casserole, she volunteered to make the whole thing from scratch, insisting on a homemade cream sauce, fresh green beans, and breading and frying the onions herself instead of resorting to French’s. Dean suggested doubling the recipe for the onions, which was wise, since somehow half of them disappeared in a matter of minutes after they came out of the oil.

The Winchesters did allow Castiel to help set up the table once he’d emerged from the bedroom after Dean and Mary had had their way with him. He and Sam added a leaf to the dining table, then dressed it with linens that obviously came out only once a year, like Mary’s dress. Mary grumbled when it became clear that the tablecloths were only big enough to fit a smaller table, and it wasn’t until Claire and Sam suggested that there had to be a flat white sheet somewhere in the house, and surely the bright green and red embroidered linens could go over that. It helped that Castiel handed her a glass of Shiraz and refilled it once—maybe twice—during the process, until finally Mary just leaned against the wall, staying well out of the way as Castiel lit the candles and Dean, Sam, and Claire carried dish after dish to the table.

Castiel couldn’t remember a better Christmas meal, not even in Provence, where some Christmas traditions were older than the United States. Not even when Claire sneaked around the legs of the table and tied knots in the corners of the tablecloth. When Sam asked why, she said, “Dad told me it’s to keep the devil from climbing up onto the table.”

To which, Sam said, “But wouldn’t it be easier with the knot? You know, to have something to grab onto?”

Dean seemed to make a sincere effort, but couldn’t stop himself from whispering, “That’s what she said.”

“I don’t understand that reference,” Castiel said, and the rest of the table roared with laughter. Sam explained _The Office_ in a few words, but television had never appealed to Castiel much and he’d never worked in an office.

“It’s totally innocent compared to _Game of Thrones_, Dad,” Claire insisted. “We’ll start after dinner.” A collective groan rose up from the table but died out once the diners returned to the feast. Dean’s prime rib rivaled anything Castiel had eaten in a New York steakhouse, but watching his daughter tear into a Cornish hen like a savage may have been the high point of the meal.

He raised a glass to Mary, who returned the gesture from the far side of the table. Dean, who was sitting on her right, caught the silent toast and grinned. Sam squirmed in his seat a little, but eventually Claire noticed him fidgeting and smacked him on the arm. She scratched his head like she would have done to calm a cat and said in his ear, “Dude, you’re my brother now. Nothing will ever be normal again.” She followed it with a fierce hug, and after a moment, Sam grinned ruefully and hugged her back.

Once she let him go, Sam returned to the meal and scanned the table quickly. “Dean, you’re hogging my potatoes. Gimme!”

“No freaking way,” Dean said. “You can have the gravy if you want.”

“There’s no point having gravy without potatoes. You’ll never see these rolls again, swear to God.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open in real outrage, and Castiel couldn’t help but laugh at it, wondering what the next escalation would be.

He didn’t get a chance to find out. As he shoveled in a mouthful of potatoes, guarding it from the amoral depredations of the Winchester boys, his phone vibrated against his thigh, and he felt his stomach drop, the last bite of potatoes sitting uncomfortably on top of the rest of the meal.

Conversation drew to a halt, and the other four looked at him with varying degrees of anxiety, irritation, curiosity, and, in one case, flat-out fear.

“Don’t answer it,” Claire said.

“Why not?” Mary said. “What if it’s family calling? It is Christmas, after all.”

“Novaks don’t call on holidays. Novaks don’t call at all, unless it’s shitty news,” Claire said. “Dad, please don’t.”

Castiel glanced at the caller I.D. and winced.

“It’s Gabriel,” he said. “I asked him to look into something for me,” he said to Claire. “I’m sorry.” He stood and excused himself from the table, escaping to the patio and catching the call just in time. “Well?”

“Hello to you, too, asshole,” Gabriel said. His voice was more than a little scratchy, and Castiel hoped it was from his hangover, but suspected it wasn’t.

“Did you find them? Where were they?”

“Well, they weren’t in the Emerald City, that’s for sure.”

“Gabriel.”

“They’ve met up, a little further along their trajectory. Gilda has a line on a honeycomb.”

“How big?”

“Forty, fifty maybe," said Gabriel. "We have to move now if we have any chance of getting them out alive. And.”

“And?”

“The source says Hannah is with them.”

Castiel’s guts ended their descent and froze up instead. A year and a half of guilt, grief, and fear dropped on him like an anvil, and he nearly sank into one of the patio chairs to keep from falling over. But he kept his spine straight; there wasn’t time to get upset. This was going to be a big operation, a crucial one, and they’d have to put it together in a few hours, at most. He was going to have to leave the distractions here.

“What source?” he finally said.

“He who shall not be named, who else?”

“Feel free to name him anytime you like,” Castiel said, even though he knew any encouragement was useless and had been since they first had access to the source.

“Not my call, bro. Soon as I give him up, he’s gone and we get no more tippy-tips. When can you get here?”

“Where am I going?”

“Take a portal. You might get there earlier than us, just wait and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Coming from you. Where am I going?” Castiel, repeated, beginning to feel more than a little impatient with his older brother.

“Afghanistan. Because it’s just so lovely this time of year.”

“Someone’s fucking with you. Afghanistan is the heart of darkness for omegas, Gabriel."

"Really? Hadn't heard. Hey, you think that's why they have so many honeycombs?"

"Where the hell are we taking them once we get them out? Pakistan? Iran? I’m sure they’ll have no problem getting asylum there, since omegas are so honored in fundamentalist Islamic culture these days.”

“Don’t be bitchy," Gabriel said. "Mother’s working a solution. She’ll have figured it out in a few hours.”

“Fine. Just send me the coordinates.”

“You with the Winchesters?”

“Yes.”

“Lucky you. Send them to the Estate. Tell Ruby to bring the plane to wherever the hell you are. We have to stay together.” Which meant that the Winchesters—and Claire—were about to be in the center of the storm. Just like he had warned Dean.

“I’ll make the calls," Castiel said. "What are approach conditions?”

“Iffy. Come at night.”

“Understood. See you.”

“Nail the landing and I won’t see you at all," Gabriel said. "Gilda will meet you.”

Castiel dropped the call without saying good-bye.

Shit. Castiel knew he was an effective commander but a lousy diplomat, so he wouldn’t be able to cajole the Winchesters and Claire into obedience. There was just enough time to get them out safely, and he wasn’t going to spend it begging or pretending that the situation was anything but serious.

He returned to the living room, almost running into Claire, who had obviously been listening to his half of the conversation.

Before he had a chance to say anything, Claire said, “When do you have to leave?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “There a situation—”

“When?”

“Around six. We have just enough time to finish dinner, and then you’ll all need to pack.”

The outcry that met his order was impressive and infuriating. They all stood up and started talking at once, killing any hopes he might have had for a speedy resolution to the inevitable argument.

Dean said, “Pack? For what? What the hell, man? Just ‘cause you say so doesn’t mean I’m gonna—”

Mary said, “Are you going to tell us where we’re going, or do you expect us to just—”

Sam said, “I have school in a week and—”

Claire said, “Dad! We just got here! We haven’t even gone to the beach yet!”

_“Enough!”_ boomed Castiel. “There’s an extraction about to happen on the other side of the planet that makes Berlin look like pulling a goddamned baby tooth, and I need you all safe, not laying out on a fucking beach where any demon with half an ounce of motivation can take you from me. It’s not happening again!”

“When you say an extraction,” Mary said, her voice a little shaky, “are you talking about a honeycomb?”

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything more specific, except that there are other lives that need saving right now, all of yours included. I have to leave as soon as I can, and I need to know you’re in the air by then.”

“In the... what?” said Dean.

“Here we go,” murmured Sam.

“No, it’s fine,” said Dean. “There are options, right? I always wanted to take a cruise. This isn’t the ideal time of year for it, but hey, I’m not picky.”

“You’re not taking a cruise, Dean,” Sam said. “Hey, Castiel, where are we going, anyway?”

“Europe,” was all Castiel said, and turned his attention to his phone, texting in the cavalry.

_Evac for 4 at 7 PM. St. Augustine. ETAs ASAP_

“Great. More family secrets. Love it,” said Sam. He jumped over the back of the couch with the long-legged grace of a gazelle and headed to his room. He came back with a slim laptop open already to a travel website specializing in cruise liners. The layout was simple, clean, and killed most of Dean’s arguments before he could even present them. Sam walked his big brother through the depressing lack of options.

“No matter where you’re going,” he said, “the next transatlantic cruise leaves March 8th from Miami and takes something like twenty days to get to the south of France. Although I guess you could disembark at Genoa and drive to wherever, if Castiel decides to give you the super-secret coordinates. The next one leaves March 26th and will land you in Barcelona in sixteen days. You’d have to drive from there, too. Which actually sounds kinda cool. Could we—”

“Don’t encourage him, Sam,” said Mary.

“So you could take a cruise and a road trip across Europe which will get you to wherever after we’re back State-side, hopefully. You could fly with us. Or you could stay here while we’re gone.”

“That’s not an option,” Castiel said, checking the incoming text messages. For once, no one argued with him.

_Darkwings: St. A airport in 2.5. You’re lucky I’m in Charleston._

_Castiel: Then you should be here in 2._

_BBlue: I’ll beat you by 2 hours._

“So here’s my question, Dean,” Sam was saying. “Can you honestly go that long without your mates?”

“We’re not mates,” Dean said. Claire snorted, and Castiel growled deep in his throat, his omega objecting strenuously to such a ridiculous notion. Of _course_ they were mates.

And of course they weren’t, and could never be. Mary wouldn’t mate with Dean, and even if she would, no mated triads had ever been heard of. It just wasn’t possible.

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Sam said. “Can you go that long without Mom and Castiel? Whatever they are to you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Castiel said, running his fingers through Dean’s hair in a fairly successful effort to calm him. “You won’t have to, Dean. I’ll meet you as soon as the operation’s complete. But this is serious. I need you to take care of them. To keep them safe. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah. I can do that,” Dean said, staring at the half-carved prime rib like it held the meaning of life.

“Good. You won’t be on your own. Backup’s coming.”

“What?”

“Look, if we’re done with dinner, let’s get going. The sooner we can get out of here, the better.”

“But pie!” said Dean, as though it had been yanked out of his throat by accident.

“We can take it with us,” Claire said, elbowing him in the ribs. “It’s our plane. Right, Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Is Ruby in the pilot’s seat?”

“She is now, and she’s on her way. Here’s the plan. You three pack. I’ll help. The four of you will go to the small airport just north of here and embark on the Novak family plane. It will take you to one of the most secure locations on the planet.”

“A secure location,” Dean said, sounding unimpressed. “Like, what, an underground bunker or something?”

“I can’t say. And I can’t tell you right now how long you’ll be there, but we’ll know more once the operation is wrapped up,” Castiel said. “I’m sorry to take over your lives like this, truly I am,” Castiel said, not daring to touch any of the Winchesters, or his daughter, for that matter. “But you’ll be safer there than anywhere else. I can promise you that.”

“All right,” Mary said. “Are we doing this alone, or with your pilot, or… I’ve only met one of your relatives, and to be perfectly honest, the idea of meeting your mother under any circumstances is terrifying.”

“A reasonable question,” Castiel said. “We’ll talk in the kitchen.” He led his small troop of disgruntled elves back to the table, where they began clearing dishes, Dean grumbling about leftovers the whole time.

“It’s the best part,” he said, dumping the last of the fried onions into the trash. “You’re supposed to watch movies until bedtime then reheat meal number two, and then pie, and then—”

The doorbell rang, and everyone but Castiel twitched in surprise. Mary glanced at him to see if she could answer it safely, and Castiel nodded. She disappeared into the hall entryway and he heard the door open.

Mary’s scent changed in half a second, turning sour enough to get Dean’s attention from twenty feet away, even hidden by the door. Then her voice, shocked and not at all pleased.

_“Benny?”_

“Mary,” said Benny warmly from the front door. “Merry Christmas. Hope it’s not too awful for you.” His low Cajun drawl sent a faint tickle down Castiel’s spine, as he fondly remembered the one or two nights they’d spent together over the last twenty years or so. It was nothing like the soul-shattering experiences he’d been having with Mary and Dean, but Benny was more than a trusted friend, and he would put his family into the man’s hands with no hesitation. Which is what he’d done for over a year, and was about to do again.

“Hi, Benny,” she said, her voice steadier than it should have been. She knew. “Is Marissa coming?”

“She’s on her way,” Benny said. “You mind if I step inside? I think we might need to speak a private word or two.”

“Come on in. Did you get to finish dinner? We’ve got plenty still and apparently we won’t be eating it.”

“Thank you, but I’ll pass. I don’t generally eat much when I fly. And I’m guessing that’s what we’re about to do. Ain’t that right, Castiel?”

Mary led Benny into the kitchen area, her arm wound through his. “Obviously you know everyone already,” she said, proved right when Claire jumped up and squeezed him tight around his burly shoulders.

“I didn’t know you were here, Benny! You and Marissa should have come by for dinner.”

“Claire, this isn’t our house,” Castiel reminded her gently.

Dean, still working in the kitchen, had gone stock still, like he’d just been turned to stone by a Gorgon’s glare. It took him a second to work through it, then he said, “Well, fuck. Is there any part of our lives you haven’t conducted over the last year, Maestro?”

“Dean,” Castiel began.

“No, it’s fine. I get it. You and your family are so much wiser and richer, and way more heroic than the rest of us plain ol’ mortal human beings, so it’s just fine to push us around like goddamned pieces of your big picture. Did you send Benny to seduce my mother, Cas? And Marissa, was she some kind of spy? And why the hell would Novaks even give two shits about Winchesters anyway?”

“Why would you care about us, Dean?” Castiel said. “A year ago, we were nothing but potential sexual partners to your mother. Distant relatives of no use once we failed to satisfy her.”

“That’s not fair!” Sam shouted. “Your brother Gabriel is kind of fun, but Michael’s a dick, and you know it.”

Mary interrupted. “Sam, he wasn’t that bad when—”

“And you disappeared!” Sam said. “You didn’t even show up or try to help until you found out what Mom and Dean are to you. You went to Berlin to find your sister, and when you found out she wasn’t there you _left_. You just _left_. So don’t even try to pretend that you were all horribly used, or whatever. If it hadn’t been for Claire wanting to find us, you wouldn’t have even bothered to come to New York at all.”

“And you wouldn’t be in danger,” Benny said quietly. He turned to Mary and took her hands loosely in his own big ones, and Castiel knew he was turning the full force of those crystalline blue eyes on her. “Cher, I’ve worked for the Novak family for a very long time. When Castiel heard you were sending out feelers for Novak partners, he knew it was only a matter of time before the Dimoni started connecting dots. So—”

“Dimoni?” Mary said.

“The highest-ranking demon clan,” Castiel said.

“Mafia. Demonic Mafia. That’s what you’re talking about,” Dean said, gnawing on his lower lip, turning it an even darker pink than it usually was.

“Yeah. So Castiel sent me here, hooked me up with my own little deli, and told me to keep an eye on Miss Mary.”

“Yeah, you kept a real close eye on her,” Dean said.

“Dean, don’t,” Mary said. “He didn’t start anything.”

“I didn’t stop it, either,” Benny said. “Got taken off the assignment when Castiel found out I was acting unprofessionally. Like I had a chance in hell of saying no to you. Best job I ever lost.” He nodded to Mary, then to Dean and Sam. “You’ll have plenty of time to chew me a new one on the way, gentlemen. Right now I b’lieve we’ve got a deadline to meet. Marissa’s going to handle all the clean-up while y’all do the rest.”

God bless Benny Lafitte. Just like that, he’d turned them all back to doing what Castiel needed. The man was a treasure.

“So we pack for a week,” Mary said. “And we’re leaving from Northeast Regional. What’s the security like? Luggage restrictions?”

“Private plane,” Claire volunteered, on her way to gather her things from the rooms she’d taken over. “No security, no restrictions.”

“No way,” said Sam, following Claire into his room to fight over space and probably clothes. She’d been wearing Sam’s plaids, resulting in a painfully defiant child-of-the-eighties-and-nineties sensibility. “No searches or TSA?”

“No,” Castiel said. “Pack like you’re going on a road trip. Except you’ll also need passports.”

When Sam disappeared, Castiel realized that he was alone in the living room, since everyone else was packing as he’d asked. Winchesters and a Novak teenager, no matter how old in years, following orders. He supposed he should do the same, since their obedient streak wouldn’t last but so long.

Castiel stopped in Dean’s room first, where Dean was stuffing as much into his bag as possible, not terribly worried about wrinkles.

“I need clothes,” Castiel said.

“You need—what?”

“It will be dark where I’m going, and I’ve only got black from the waist down. I need a black long-sleeved something. What do you have?”

“Right, yeah.” Dean dug around in his duffel until he found exactly what Castiel needed, and tossed it across the room to him.

“Perfect.” Castiel shucked off his white button-down and slid into the long-sleeved compression shirt that Dean probably used for running. It was a little too small for him, since Dean hadn’t grown into his own bones yet, but it would stay out of his way, keep in a fair amount of heat, and it had the added bonus of making Dean’s jaw drop just a little.

“So, hot ninja Cas,” he murmured. “Keep the shirt. It looks better on you. Hey, wait,” he said, after a moment of recovery. “These timetables are fucked. You can’t be taking the Rolls, because no matter how far you got you couldn’t hit night until—”

“I’m going to the Middle East, and I’m using what’s called a portal. There’s a certain percentage of angelic DNA required to use one, and it’s hell on a body. Think of the worst hangover you’ve ever—”

“Charlie, New Year’s Eve. Fifty-one weeks ago, actually.”

“A lot’s happened since then.”

“You could say.” Dean gave Castiel a level stare that reminded him of what they’d been up to only hours before, and he couldn’t help but grab Dean behind the neck and press their lips together, Castiel digging his teeth into Dean’s generous lower one, earning himself a quiet but undeniable whimper.

“I’ll miss you,” Castiel confessed, his fingers still curled around the nape of Dean’s neck.

“I could come with you.”

“You couldn’t. I doubt you’ve got enough angel in you—don’t you dare make that joke, young man, it’s entirely inappropriate at the moment—”

“I bet I had enough angel in me last night.”

Castiel grinned and kissed Dean’s forehead.

“You couldn’t use a portal, beautiful boy. And I need you with my family. It’s your family, too. You promised.”

“Plus I got no clue where you’re going and what you’re doing. So maybe next time.”

“Maybe.” Castiel kissed Dean one more time for luck, then ducked out of his room to find his own luggage in Mary’s bedroom.

To Dean’s relief, Marissa did show up soon after the packing process started and had the kitchen spotless in half an hour. Dean stopped her as she was taking out the trash and held out the keys to the Impala, attached to a worn black leather fob with the AC/DC letters embossed in gold.

“Do you know anywhere you can park her? A garage, at least under a shelter somewhere?”

She grinned. “You’re trusting me with Baby? Seriously?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t have too many options right now,” Dean grumbled, still angry that she and Benny had been working for Castiel the whole time she’d been his mother’s assistant.

Marissa put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him and his attitude. “All right, I have to say this, and then I’ll shut up about it. If you think for one second that the only reason we helped your mom was because we were under orders, you’re an idiot. You know how she is. Half the planet would throw themselves at her feet just to kiss them, and everyone in this house is in that half.”

“Did you even know how to play the violin?”

“A little. Kinda how I got the assignment. Something like twenty agents applied for it but I had a background in strings, so. Can we get past this now? Because you guys really need to get the fuck out of here.”

“I thought Cas was just taking precautions.”

“You go right ahead and think that. Now hand over the keys, Dean. Tick-tock.”

“There’s a cover in the garage,” Dean said. “Promise you’ll use it.”

“Of course.”

As much as it made his skin crawl to entrust Baby to anyone outside the family, he realized that he had to think of Marissa as part of the family now, too. And Benny. And probably a whole lot more people that he was about to meet over the next twenty-four hours.

But that didn’t mean he had to trust them. Both his parents had lied to him about more than a couple of things, Sam had been manipulating everyone since birth, and God only knew what else Castiel was hiding behind those deep ocean-blue eyes. He loved them all, but still.

He gave Marissa the keys.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck, Dean. Benny’s going to take good care of all of you.”

“Marissa!” Castiel called from Mary’s bedroom. Marissa patted Dean on the shoulder and went to find out what Castiel needed.

Dean followed her into his mother’s bedroom and paused to take in the sight of his mother coming down the pull-down ladder from the attic, that red dress hugging the smooth curve of her hips just right, the hem swishing around her knees like a goddamned flag calling him to battle. How he hadn’t gone into rut over the last week was a fucking miracle.

Castiel was watching the display as well, his posture tense, ready to catch her if she fell, but Dean knew there was slim chance of that. She landed safely, holding a leather-bound box that she laid on the bed next to an old black Samsonite hard case that Dean had never seen before. She opened the leather box, and what was inside could not have shocked Dean more.

The box held a gun, wrapped in oilcloth and nestled in a velvet lining. She unwrapped the gun, and Castiel gave a low whistle.

“That’s…” Dean sputtered. “That’s—”

“A gun, yes,” Mary said. The polished silver pistol had intricate engravings on the slide and what looked like ivory overlays on the grip. His mother ran her fingertips over the engravings and picked up the gun with the ease of someone who had been around them all her life. She aimed the pistol at the floor and racked the slide with no particular effort whatsoever, then peered down the slide to check the chamber.

Dean make a soft choking sound.

“Jesus, Mom, when did you learn to shoot?”

“I was twelve,” she said. “Once I got strong enough to handle the recoil. Not this gun, though. This was one of your father’s. It needs cleaning.” She checked the safety and the chamber one more time, then let the slide go and stowed the gun back into its leather case. “I didn’t teach you and Sam to shoot because I never wanted you to need a gun. Castiel, you said there weren’t security checks, right?”

Castiel nodded. “Bring whatever you need.”

“And customs?”

“That won’t be a problem,” he said. “You can leave the grenade launcher at home, though. We have one where you’re going.”

Dean couldn’t be sure if Castiel was serious or not.

“What’s in the other box?” he said to his mother.

She flicked the clasp open to show him several compartments, one filled with small round brushes, cotton balls and squares, bottles of something that looked like oil, long steel rods, and a box of .45 rounds. The other compartment was neatly organized into packing cubes, which held table salt, an assortment of what looked like teas and powders in color-coded packages, a silver knife, a rosary, some other stuff that made Dean’s brain hurt, and a major league first aid kit.

“Hunter,” Castiel murmured. “You weren’t kidding.”

Mary gave him a tiny smile.

“You’re gonna teach me about all this, right?” Dean said.

“Yes, baby,” she said. She closed the hard case and went to Dean, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him thoroughly. Dean thought it might have been as much for her comfort as for his.

While Mary was busy checking the gun and kissing Dean, Marissa had disappeared on Castiel’s errand and returned in a matter of minutes. She handed him a sturdy black case (were they all black?) that Dean assumed had been stowed in the trunk of the Ghost.

“Thank you, Marissa. Your service is greatly appreciated.”

“As is the opportunity, Mr. Novak. Safe travels.”

“And you.”

Marissa jingled Baby’s keys to get Dean’s attention. “My uncle has a restoration shop; your monster will fit right in with the other kids. Also, thanks for the pies—that coconut cream was fucking phenomenal.” She was gone in the blink of an eye, and Dean had to wonder what skills Marissa had other than a basic knowledge of physical therapy, housekeeping, and violin. Disapparation, maybe?

He stopped thinking about Marissa when Castiel unlocked his case and opened it flat on the bed next to Mary’s. The display of weapons was mystifying in itself, but watching Castiel get geared up was even stranger. He could never have imagined Castiel loading full ammunition clips into magazines, or slipping them into pockets on a tactical vest, or even putting on the damn vest, or—worst of all—how naturally it sat on Castiel’s shoulders and chest. Clearly, he’d done this before.

Castiel clipped a belt around his waist and slid a pistol into one of the side holsters; dull black and slightly larger than his mother’s, it looked like the kind of weapon with a history of killing. Kind of like Castiel did, now that he was geared up for battle.

“What’s that?” Dean said, tugging on a coiled rubber cord attached to the belt.

“A tourniquet,” Castiel said shortly.

“Jesus. Is this Kevlar?” Dean poked at the vest, which almost seemed like it would poke back. “You always take Kevlar on vacation?”

“I don’t really take vacations,” Castiel said. He zipped the vest up the middle and snugged up the side straps, then unzipped another compartment in his armory and drew out the most gorgeous dagger Dean had ever seen outside a museum. A few inches shorter than Dean’s arm, most of the weapon was made of flawless gleaming metal that might have been steel but probably wasn’t, shaped into a three-sided blade, ending in a tip so fine it seemed to disappear into thin air. He automatically held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Castiel put the hilt in his open palm.

Dean knew absolutely nothing about daggers or swords or anything beyond what knife to use for chopping vegetables or boning chicken, but as soon as the cool metal touched his hand, he knew the blade was meant to be his.

“You’d wanted to see an angel blade.”

“Yeah. And this one’s mine?”

“Yes. It’s a very versatile weapon. Kills most demons, and almost anything else that will die from a stab to the heart. Not bad for cutting hamstrings and slashing throats, either. Holds an edge forever. Sam will get his when he comes of age.”

“Do I have anything to say about this?” Mary asked, a touch of acid in her voice.

“Mary, your boys are Novaks, if indirectly. Part angel. Unless you hide them away in a panic room, they will be targeted by demons at some point in their lives. You already have been. They should have the weapons to defend themselves and the people they love, and they should know how to use them.” Castiel went to her and set his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me you understand.”

Her scent had gone stale, like day-old strawberry-flavored cotton candy, and her nose was red and runny. She sniffed hard, but nodded. “I get it, Castiel, I do. The gun will be Dean’s, once he learns to shoot, so I have no right to argue about a blade. And he and Sam will learn everything I can teach them, and more. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She escaped into the bathroom and shut the door.

“Your mother and I obviously have strong feelings about this, Dean. But no one’s going to force you to fight.”

“The Dimoni will.”

Castiel nodded as he took two more angel blades from his weapons cache and slid them into scabbards on the back of his vest. They didn’t sing like movie swords; they were completely silent, and Dean thought that if Castiel got close enough, he could take down three or four demons before they even knew he was there. He wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or turned on. Probably both.

“What about Claire?” Dean said. “Wait, let me guess—she has one of her own already, right?”

Castiel’s mouth twitched in what could have been a smile if you had a microscope to find it.

“Claire is growing up slowly,” he answered. “She’s been a thirteen-year-old for eight years or so, in body and attitude, so—”

“So she’s kind of in hell.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “She’s said so in exactly those words, actually. But even though she’s technically older than you by decades, she’s not ready for a blade. You are. You and Sam will start training soon on the essentials—history, research, combat, depending on your aptitudes and who’s in your area after the fallout from the extraction has settled.”

The bathroom door opened, and Mary stepped out, a little more put together.

“I can fight,” she said.

“No way,” Dean said.

“Absolutely not,” Castiel said. “Mary, how much insurance do you have on those hands? About as much as you’ve taken out on the Stradivarius, I’m guessing?”

She blinked. “All right. I can’t fight. But I can help.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, kissing her soundly. “Benny will match you with tutors. There’s no telling what your strengths will be, but I look forward to finding out.”

“Holy shit, Cas, do you guys have a Sorting Hat?” Mary and Castiel shot him equally exasperated glares. “Well, I was kinda hoping.”

Castiel repacked his weapons case and checked his watch. His phone vibrated, and he answered it immediately, heading into the living room and taking the case along with him.

“Understood,” he said after a moment. “Five passengers. They’ll be on the move in ten minutes. Airport in twenty.” His eyes narrowed the slightest bit; if Dean hadn’t been watching him so closely he would have missed it. “Five, then. Thank you, Ruby. Keep them safe.” He hung up the phone and bellowed for Benny, who appeared behind Dean like another fucking ghost.

“I know,” Benny said. “Ruby texted. Kids are ready. Mary?”

Mary nodded, her luggage both on wheels behind her and slung over her shoulder, violin case in hand.

“Dean?”

“Shit, yeah, uh, I’ll be right there.” He raced back into his bedroom, stashed the angel blade in the mess of clothes, zipped his duffel, and followed the line of Winchesters and Novaks out the door to Benny’s waiting SUV, which was somehow even bigger than the one that had driven them in New York, but Dean didn’t stop to ask the make and model. The sun was starting to go down, and the sudden urgency triggered by the phone call made him feel all kinds of queasy, so much that he’d almost forgotten they were about to get on a plane.

Claire darted back to her father and gave him a saucy once-over. “Looking good, Papa. Don’t get dead.”

“Never,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the head. “See you on the other side, pet.”

“Don’t call me that!” Claire hollered, but by the time she’d finished her sentence, Castiel had disappeared around the side of house without a sound. Just like a fucking ninja.

“On the other side of what?” Sam said.

“The other side of the world,” Claire said.

“He don’t like good-byes much,” Benny said, clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “And he’ll kill me if I don’t get you on that plane, so get in the car, brother, and let’s go.”

“But his face,” Dean said stupidly, trailing after his mother like a baby duck.

“What about his face?” Claire said, as Benny gave Dean an almost bossy shove into the back seat of the SUV.

“He’s pale. They’ll be able to see him coming.”

“He’s got face paint, idiot,” she said, and if she was worrying at all, she wasn’t showing it. Outside, Benny circled the vehicle, made sure the doors were secure, and slid into the driver’s seat.

It occurred to Dean that Benny had been double-checking for bombs before starting the ignition. Strangely, the information didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. If Cas was taking a fucking tourniquet to whatever battle waited for him at the other end of that portal, and if Dean had just been given what looked like a holy sword or something, and if they were basically evacuating Florida, then checking for bombs seemed like a reasonable precaution. Still, the face paint issue bugged the hell out of him.

“But you need help to do that, right?” he said. “The guys in JROTC used to camo each other—”

Sam leaned into Dean’s side and said, “I think he can probably do it himself by now, Dean. I get the feeling it’s not his first mission.”

“No,” Mary said, taking his hand. “Not his first.”

“So ‘camo each other,’” Claire said with a wicked smile. “Is that some kind of euphemism? Because they don’t have ROTC at my school and if that’s what goes on, dude, I gotta get a club started! Is it an all-guy ritual or is it pretty much whatever gender floats your—”

“Claire!” Benny snapped. “All due respect to the boss’s daughter, _cher,_ but shut the hell up so I can listen for my phone, will you? If the plane blows up I’d like to know about it before we hit the runway.”

“Ruby won’t let it. She’s way too awesome. Also if the plane blows up, how would she—”

“_Ça suffit,_ Mademoiselle.”

Claire obligingly shut up.

Not long after they left the house, Dean tried to roll down the windows and let in some fresh air, since the only other option was to breathe the sour air of his own nervous scent and his mother’s. The windows were locked.

“Hey, Benny. Unlock the windows, man. I’m dying back here.”

“Can’t compromise security,” Benny said. “I’ll pump some air back your way, might help for a few minutes.”

“The windows are bulletproof,” Claire said, in a whisper that everyone in the car could hear. “They’re not meant to keep passengers in, so much as to keep other things out.”

Like bullets, Dean thought. Or whatever.

They didn’t have to test the armor, and made the tiny airport in nineteen minutes, where Benny drove them through the parking lots and around the back to the gates for the private jets. No one stopped them.

The jet itself was unremarkable: plain, white, and big, almost too big for the runway. The airstairs to the forward entrance were down and waiting for them to board, and the cargo hatch was open. It occurred to Dean that trying to lift this bitch off the ground without sinking nose-first into the Tolomato River might be harder than it looked. He said as much to Benny, who answered only that Ruby was a miracle worker and if she needed an extra inch she’d pull it out of a pocket universe. Claire snorted at that.

“If Ruby needed an extra inch of anything I don’t think she’d have a problem finding it,” she said, and Dean understood why when the woman herself strode down the stairs to meet them. Of medium height, she had long, wavy black hair and wore a chauffeur’s uniform, complete with cap. Her painted-on pants made skinny jeans look like surfer cargos, and the way she held herself made her seem a foot taller than she was.

Dean was devoted to his mother, but he knew a hot chick when he saw one. Apparently Sam did, too.

“Wow, she’s…”

“Bad ass, right?” Claire said. “So hot. Wait ‘til you meet her sister.”

Benny handed out earplugs to everyone and waited for them to put them in, then unlocked the SUV and they tumbled out like clowns from a circus car.

“You’re late, Lafitte,” Ruby said, hollering over the sound of the jet engine.

“Was busy picking up the VIPs,” he said. “Why don’t you help our passengers get on board and get comfortable, and Dean will help me load up the luggage. Ain’t much of it, but then there’s laundry where we’re going.”

“You got it, boss,” Ruby said, but Dean was pretty sure she wasn’t serious about the title.

He and Benny got the luggage squared away in the cargo bay, which was just low enough for Benny to hop up into it so Dean could hand him the bags. He thought he might have to re-teach his mother how to pack lightly—funny, because she’d taught him how to do it in the first place. Once everything was strapped in, Benny hopped down with surprising grace for such a large man, and worked some mechanisms to close the door. Dean didn’t pay much attention, since he was about to throw himself at the mercy of a strange woman, aeronautics, and a fancy tin can with wings, and was trying not to throw up.

“You’ll be all right,” Benny said. “It’s pretty nice in there. Give it a chance.”

As if he had a choice. The ocean was looking better and better every second.

It must have shown in his face as he boarded, because his mother took one look at him and said, “I brought Valium. Half a dose would do you a lot of good, darling.”

“If you’re offering, I’d like some, just on general principle,” their pilot said, and Claire piped up, “Me too!”

“No to both of you,” Mary said.

“No to me,” said Dean. “Fucking planes. Valium knocks me out, Mom, and I can’t afford to… well, an alpha who can’t take care of his family’s no alpha at all.”

“Time to buckle in, kiddos,” Ruby said. “Pick a seat and get cozy; we’ll get to cruising altitude in no time at all and you’ll be able to stretch out. Oh, and I’m Ruby. I’m flying this bird. This little guy here’s my co-pilot—Jack, come out and say hi, honey.”

A young man poked his head out from the cockpit, his angular face saved from gauntness by an earnest, eager expression that reminded Dean of a four-month old puppy just learning to fetch. And he was the fucking co-pilot. Oh, this was grand.

Ruby tossed her cap back to Claire and ducked into the cockpit with Jack. A moment later, her voice came over the intercom, as clear as though she was still in the cabin with them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be taxiing down this sorry excuse for a runway in a couple of minutes. Monsieur Benjamin will be your in-flight server, and will be coming around with light snacks and beverages once we hit our sweet spot over the Atlantic. In the meantime, let me welcome you to Novak Air, your home in the sky, whether you like it or not.”

Dean sat in one of the recliners and buckled in, close enough to his mother that he could just touch her. She stroked the back of his hand and nodded to the cabin.

“Pretty nice compared to coach, you think?”

Dean dragged his gaze from the closing door of the cockpit and glanced around the cabin, since his mother so obviously wanted to distract him. He had to admit, it was impressive, if not quite as roomy as the first class cabin of their flight home from Berlin. Seating for maybe ten, two generously-stuffed couches along the sides, a wet bar—not surprising given the number of bars he’d seen in the Novak penthouse—a carpet with a sort of subtle M.C. Escher design that had to have been custom-made for the cabin, and windows that were way too big for his liking. There were shades that he could pull, of course, but for now, Sam seemed so pleased with the view, even a view from the ground of the darkening sky, that Dean couldn’t bring himself to close them.

As for interior design, Dean had been in doctors’ offices with more character. There were bits of color and character scattered throughout the cabin, though—a niche full of books ranging from Grisham to Dostoyevski to Ishiguro, a pile of Christmas-colored plush throw blankets on one of the recliners, two flat-screen TVs mounted on either end of the cabin, a gaming system and an impressive stack of discs to go with it. So the jet seemed to be used mostly for family, although he suspected that it could be stripped down to the basics for business or dressed up fancy for VIPs.

Yeah, it was nice, for a plane. But it was still a can in the sky, and he was still stuck inside it.

As Ruby had promised, the plane started to move almost as soon as everyone was buckled in, finishing its wide turn to face the runway, leaving Dean stuck with the side view of chain link fences lined with safety lights. Mary had left her hand on Dean’s, and he knew she wanted him to be okay with this. He might be able to fake it, for her.

Benny had buckled into the seat beside Dean and leaned over as the plane began to accelerate.

“Did you get to ride in Castiel’s car? The Ghost?” Benny asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “What about it?”

“Rolls Royce made the engines for this plane. So it might feel a little different from the Boeing commercials you’ve flown in before.”

“I should hang on, then.”

Benny shrugged. “Not really.”

While they’d been speaking, the plane had hit the end of the runway and lifted off as lightly and silently as a dandelion seed in summer.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kind of creepy,” Dean said.

“Yeah. But I always find the lift off and landing worse than anything else. With Ruby flying, you barely feel it. Kinda nice,” Benny said.

“Um. Sure.”

As smooth as take-off had been, Dean did feel the plane bank to the right a moment later.

“We’re adjusting the flight path to get out of the way of the other planes that were waiting. Not that there were many,” Benny said.

“You’ve flown on this before, I guess.”

“Yeah. Sometimes you have to move people faster than American Airlines can. Sometimes it makes more sense to skip the security lines. Tonight’s probably one of those times.”

“Hey, Dean, I can see our house from here!” said Sam. “See, it’s right down—”

“God, Sam, will you just—”

“Dean!”

Sam’s voice turned high and strained. Dean and Mary both paid attention, and when Sam put his hand on the window and looked down, they unbuckled and crossed the cabin to see what he was looking at.

The sun was almost down, and the electric lights of St. Augustine were amplified by the bright Christmas bulbs filling in the spaces that were otherwise empty throughout the year.

Christmas lights, and a new, unfamiliar blossom of orange fire that outshone them all.

“Oh. Oh, no,” whispered Mary. “Sam, was that. Did you see where…” But she couldn’t finish her sentence.

“What is it?” demanded Claire.

Ruby’s voice came through the intercom. “Benny, can you get a location on that fire? I’ll enable wifi if you need navigation.”

“I don’t think you have to,” said Dean, his voice rough and hard. “That was our house.”

The three Winchesters stayed at the window, holding hands, until the bright flare became a pinprick of light under the Novak jet and then disappeared entirely.


End file.
